Steal My Heart Tonight
by MysteriousWriter743
Summary: This is not the story you know. A Prince is cursed to be a hideous monster and his brother is spared his suffering. A girl from a poor town exchanges her freedom for her father's and her sister saves a man she barely knows. How will the strings of fate bind them all together? Rated T for blood in later chapters.
1. Prologue

**Hooray for me! I finally worked up enough courage to post another story on fanfiction! This story idea has actually been bouncing around in my head for three years but I spent a lot of time trying to develop the plot and how my two OC characters would fit into the story. Here's a bit of background:**

**_Three years ago..._**

**I was watching "Beauty and the Beast" with my sister and I noticed that she kept staring at the TV and then back at me. When I asked her what was wrong she only said, "They don't have any siblings."**

**"Who?"**

**"Belle and the Beast don't have any siblings."**

**It was such an innocent statement and since she didn't ask me any more questions, I completely forgot about the whole thing until I was laying in my bed that night on the verge of sleep. My muse decided that it wasn't anywhere close to bedtime yet and thought, _What would have happened if Belle and the Beast had siblings?_ And so, in my head hatched a plot bunny for two new characters to tell their untold story. **

**OMG! I honestly can't even describe how excited I am about sharing this with you guys! But as excited as I am, I do have a life outside of the internet (who would have guessed?) so there might be long lengths of time between updates. Because I also rely heavily on constructive criticism chapters may be edited multiple times before I'm satisfied. It will be a long, frustrating process but I hope you will bear with me through this journey. **

**xoxo from Joni**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Disney or "Beauty and the Beast". I only own my OCs.**

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Prologue

_Once upon a time, in a faraway land, two princes lived in a shining castle. Though both had all their hearts desired the eldest was spoiled, selfish, and unkind while his younger brother was an upright, noble, and kind man. On Christmas Eve many years ago, an old beggar woman came to the castle's door and begged the elder of the two brothers for shelter in exchange for a single red rose. But the elder brother was disgusted by her ugliness and demanded that she leave the castle's grounds. "Do not be deceived by appearances," the woman warned wisely. "The truest beauty of all is found not in the outward appearance, but in the heart."_

_The Prince sneered. "Leave my home. You are not welcome here, unless you fancy being charged for trespassing on royalty."_

_ His cruel words were no sooner out of his mouth when the hag began to glow. Her ugly guise melted away so she was revealed in her true form: a beautiful Enchantress. An awesome wrath poured from her eyes and the Prince fell to his knees before her, shaking and begging her to forgive his cruelty. But his pleas fell on deaf ears, for the Enchantress could see that he held no love in his heart for any, other than himself. "You have been deceived by your own cold heart. A curse shall be upon every member of your house. You shall bear an appearance that reflects what you are on the inside: a Beast. You will have no one but your servants for companionship, doomed to remain alone and unloved until you find one to love and who loves you in return, despite what you appear to be."_

_ The Prince remained on his knees as the transformation took place. His limbs lengthened and swelled and sprouted dark brown fur as he screamed in the agony of his bones breaking and being reformed into that of an animal. When the light finally faded from his form, the Beast collapsed onto all four legs, snarling in anger and whimpering in pain. "What have you done to me?!" _

_ The Enchantress' eyes held no pity or sympathy, only cold truth. "I have done nothing to you, Beast. You have done this to yourself. If your heart had not been so cold and without love, perhaps I could have rewarded you for your kindness. As it is, I will leave you with three gifts, in the hope that they will aid you in breaking your curse._

_ In her hands, the Enchantress held and ornate mirror and the rose that she had offered the Prince in exchange for a place to stay. These she gave to him explaining, "The mirror is enchanted to show you anything that you wish to see; your gateway to the outside world. The rose will be your timer. It will bloom until your twenty-fourth year, and then die. If you have not broken the spell by then, you will be doomed to remain an accursed monster for all time."_

_The Enchantress turned to leave but the Beast called out, his voice turned into a rough growl, "What about my final gift?"_

_She turned around. "You will know it when the time comes." And then she was gone._

_ Soon after, the Prince's brother returned home, spared from the Enchantress's curse because of a kindness he had given her. Enraged, the Beast locked his brother in the dungeon tower and left him there to rot._

_Ashamed of his monstrous form, the Beast concealed himself inside his castle with only the mirror and the rose, as it slowly counted down. He soon fell into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a beast?_

* * *

_Who indeed_, the prisoner thought grimly. For years, he had labored away, slowly, painstakingly etching the words into the cold stone until they could never be washed away. That was all well and good for the prisoner felt that his time was nearly up. Every day he felt his body grow weaker despite the best efforts of his servants to sustain him. Darkness was coming but he felt no fear. He was ready.

Suddenly, he heard the distinctive sounds of metal upon hard stone. The prisoner smiled it would be good to see a friendly face before death took him. Weakly, he pulled himself up to the bars of his cell and found Lumiere, the enchanted candlestick, staring at him anxiously through the bars. "I tried to find you some food," he reported forlornly, "but the Master was pacing everywhere today and I could not—"

"Peace, my old friend," the prisoner interrupted. "You have done more for me than most would have considering his orders. I'm very glad you are here; there is something I must tell you."

The prisoner had debated tell his friend this but he knew it had to be done; a last gesture of love for his friends, and perhaps a beacon of hope for them as well. "Someone will be coming soon. By what way or time I do not know, I only know that someone is coming and that there will be great joy for all."

"Is it the one who will break the spell?"

"Perhaps. But tell the Master that it will be his only chance, you must make sure he understands that."

"And if he finds out it was you who said this?"

The prisoner smiled wryly. "It hardly matters anymore. He can take my advice or forget it. I don't suppose I'll live long enough to find out."

Lumiere looked taken aback. Then he squared his shoulders (or what could be presumed to be his shoulders) and proclaimed, "I will not let you die, sir. I swear on my life that I will keep you alive."

"Of course you will, my friend. Unfortunately, I must ask one last favor of you and you must make sure every servant in this house hears it."

"Sir?"

"If I should live long enough to see your savior come to the castle—"

"And you will live," Lumiere promised.

"If I live to see that day, then you must swear the household to secrecy about my true identity. If she knows it will raise too many questions that cannot be answered. Promise me this."

"I promise you, sir."

"Good. Now go, I do not want you in trouble at my expense."

Though Lumiere did not fear his Master as much as many of the other servants did, he did not like to be on the receiving end of his temper. With one last forlorn look at the prisoner, he hopped out of the tower.

As his friend left and the darkness returned, the prisoner realized how tired he had become. It would do him good to sleep. Not for forever, the time for that was not quite here yet, but he sensed that it would be soon. For the first time in ten years the prisoner lay down and slept peacefully.

_It will not be long now…_


	2. Chapter One: Another Boring Day

**Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first chapter in our great odyssey that is this story! Together we shall brave even the strongest of storms and the most difficult challenges known to mankind (i.e. writer's block) until we reach our goal!**

**Okay, enough with the dramatics. Onto the story!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Beauty and the Beast", any works by Alexandre Dumas, Charles Perrault, or Victor Hugo**

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Another Boring Day

The morning in the village dawned much as it had the morning before; and the morning before that; and the morning before that. Nothing about that morning was extraordinary, the sun still broke over the distant horizon and painted the sky with beautiful shades of red, purple, and gold. It was on this un-extraordinary morning that two extraordinary girls went into town, much like they did everyday.

Belle and Layla at first appeared to be an unlikely pair. Layla's fiery auburn hair and sparkling green eyes contrasted with Belle's dark brown and pretty hazel; but nevertheless the girls were sisters. Belle's mother had adopted a nine year-old Layla just before she had died and the girls had found such comfort in one another after her death that they had become inseparable. Layla had told Belle about how her mother had found her: a poor orphan girl, sick and alone, on the outskirts of the village. Layla hadn't asked the woman to take her in, but Belle's mother had simply scooped her up like a babe and brought her home. "This is your new sister," she had said when her daughter turned curious eyes to the little girl in her mother's arms. "Her name is Layla."

Belle had taught Layla how to read and write, and through Belle, Layla discovered her own love for books. Their father had often found them asleep on the couch near the dying fire with books in their hands. They were not sisters by blood but they were kindred spirits to each other and it was something they felt they often needed, considering how bored they were living in their tiny village.

"So, what are we doing today?" Layla asked as she walked arm-in-arm with her sister down to the ever unchanging streets.

Belle chuckled at her sister's familiar joke. "The real question is: what is everyone else doing today?"

The girls looked at each other and said, "The same thing they did yesterday!" Before laughing loudly into the cold morning air.

"Fortunately, for us," Belle remarked when they had finally calmed down, "we can borrow a new adventure today."

"Which one should we pick?"

"Perhaps an old favorite?"

"Which old favorite?"

This sent them into a new round of giggles, which caught the attention of the baker, passing along, and selling his bread. "Good morning, girls," he called cheerily. "What has you so amused this morning?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," answered Layla. "We were just talking about what new stories we might discover today at the bookshop and we―"

"Ah, yes, yes, that's nice," the baker interrupted, having lost all interest in the conversation when Layla brought up that they were looking for books. "Marie, we're out of baguettes! Hurry up!"

The baker's wife hurried past them and handed a steaming tray of bread to her husband, who seemed to have forgotten he'd been talking to the girls at all. Belle rolled her eyes and pulled Layla along down the road while whispers followed them all the way.

"A bit odd those two, aren't they?"

"Reading! Hmph, it's not proper for girls to read."

"It's too bad the mother died when they were so young and the father didn't have enough sense to marry again. It would have done the girls some good."

"Such beauty gone to waste!"

The girls heard all of it but took none of it to heart. They had made peace with the fact that they were different from everyone else in the village, who prefered the safe feelings of conformity and normalcy. They wanted adventure, to see the world, to make their own story, one where they got to be the heroes. Being in the village was like being in a fishbowl, nowhere to go except where you'd been before. Books gave them an escape from all the awful familiarity of village life. In books, Belle and Layla could be whoever they wished; whether it be mysterious Arabian princesses or cut-throat vagabonds. They could go to the deepest depths of the sea or to the highest tree in the jungle. Books were the escape route the girls used to get out of their normal, constant lives and go on adventures.

It seemed the only man in the village who shared Belle and Layla's opinions on books was the bookseller. He was an elderly man who had been good friends with their mother and let her borrow books whenever she felt like it. After she passed away, he'd generously allowed her daughters to continue borrowing books. Layla didn't know how she would have stayed sane without his constant supply of literature. New books didn't come in every week but he did manage to keep a sizeable collection around so the girls never got bored. Recently, Layla had discovered she loved the writings of Alexandre Dumas, especially The Three Musketeers. Belle would often go back to old favorites, so much so that the bookseller had once joked that the pages of Romeo and Juliet were permanently stained with her tears.

When they finally reached the little shop, nestled on the corner, Layla felt her smile grow in anticipation. This was the place where she could be herself, a place that told her it was alright for her to be different from everybody else. The little bell on the door rang merrily as the duo entered.

"Belle, Layla!" The bookseller emerged from behind the counter and adjusted his spectacles with a bright twinkle in his eye.

"Good morning! We're returning the books we borrowed." Belle handed him her copy before climbing the ladder and scrutinizing every row.

"It can't have been more than two weeks since I last saw you both!"

"I think that's a new record," teased Layla, handing her book back to the man as well.

The bookseller laughed. "I do declare, I have never met two young ladies so intrigued by the world of literature. But it is not, by any means, an unwelcome change."

Layla smiled at him before joining her sister by the shelves, her eyes scouting every row in her search for The Man in the Iron Mask. "Do you have anything new?" Belle asked from her perch on the ladder.

"Not since you were here last."

Belle waved a hand while her eyes continued to sweep every book, searching for the perfect fit. "That's alright. I'll borrow… This one!" Triumphantly, Belle held in her hand a book that both girls adored. It was a fairytale about a young maiden who meets a prince while in the forest one day. However, she doesn't figure out that her young man is the prince until much later in the story. Layla should have expected Belle to choose it, she did love old favorites.

The bookseller looked closely at the cover's lettering before exclaiming, "That one? But you've read it twice!"

"Five times," Layla corrected. "The second time she borrowed it, she read it three times in a row."

"Well, it's my favorite!" Belle looked dreamily into the distance, like she could see the scene unfolding on the street outside the shop. "Far off places, daring sword fights―"

"Magic spells and princes in disguise," Layla interjected with a fond smile. "You've only told me a hundred times."

"Oh, and you haven't done the same thing? You've read this one just as many times as I have!" Belle nudged her sister's shoulder fondly.

The bookseller shook his head and laughed as the siblings bickered good-naturedly. "Well, Belle, if you like it all that much it's yours."

Belle's lovely hazel eyes grew as big as saucers. Neither girl had ever been given such a fine gift. "But sir―" Belle tried to push the book back into his hands.

"I insist! And Layla," he added, rummaging through a lower shelf. "I know you enjoyed those stories by Charles Perrault."

Astonished, Layla took the red, leather bound book from his hands. The cover was embossed with a golden design of leaves and flowers around the title's lettering. It was a beautiful edition. "Where did this come from?" Layla wondered.

"Oh, that one's been on the shelf for about ten years. The woman who brought it to me said the owner left it in the tavern and never returned for it."

"How tragic," murmured Layla, her thin fingers tracing the golden designs. She looked up at her friend, happy tears starting to sparkle in her eyes. "This is so generous of you. Thank you so much."

The bookseller adjusted his spectacles and smiled at the girls. "It's the least I can do for my two best customers."

"Well, thank you. Thank you very much!" Belle waved to him as he ushered the two out the door and back into the sunshine.

It didn't take long before they were both being swept away in their own imaginations. While Belle read of the prince in disguise and his sweetheart, Layla's book told the tale of poor, but good-hearted, Cinderella. At the fountain in the center of town, they stopped and sat on the edge, letting the cool water leave a slight misty spray on their skin. Layla loved the feeling of the sun on her face and, if it weren't for the bustling all around her, she could picture herself by a stream in front of a grand castle.

Belle snapped her out of her thoughts by remarking that they did need to get home and help their father. With a small sigh, Layla let her thoughts of castles and streams fade from her mind and focused on the task ahead: reading her book without abandon and making her way unscathed through the crowded streets of the market. She and Belle had mastered the skill years ago and it was a wonderful way to pass the time; a trip that would normally feel very long felt as though it had taken no time at all when she had a book in hand. They were almost to the path that would lead them home when Layla looked up and saw the last two people on earth that she wanted to see.

"Hello, Belle," the interloper said, completely ignoring Layla's presence.

"Bonjour, Gaston," her sister replied, politely yet curtly.

Gaston was the town hero. Tall, strapping, and devilishly handsome, he was a very good hunter and an arrogant braggart to boot. Every girl in town admired him, swooning at his feet as he walked by, all fervently hoping to one day become his bride. Unfortunately, he only had eyes for one woman: Belle. Layla felt an ugly creature rise up in her every time the hunter came anywhere near her sister. At first she had thought it was jealousy but she quickly realized that it was only intense distrust. She didn't like the way Gaston looked at her sister, like he was a great, fat cat and Belle was the little mouse he was so intent on catching. He also didn't appreciate a good book apparently, considering he had just snatched Belle's book right out of her hands. LeFou, his piggy-looking little lackey, followed after him, nodding at every statement he made.

"Gaston, may I have my book please?" Belle reached for it but Gaston kept it away from her grasp.

"How can you read this?" HIs tone was incredulous as he let the book's pages fall from one cover to the other. "There are no pictures."

Belle and Layla both lifted their eyebrows and wore identical smirks on their faces. How was it possible that one man could have such a thick head? Or a more overdeveloped ego? "Well, some people use their imagination."

Gaston ignored her jab at his intelligence and instead turned back to her with a scolding tone. "Belle, it's about time you got your head out of those books and paid attention to more important things." He tossed the book into a puddle of mud and then stopped Belle, who had knelt down to retrieve it. "Like me." He smiled prettily at Belle, but Layla could still only think of that cat hunting that poor little mouse. Not that Belle couldn't take care of herself; she had stood up to Gaston before, tried to put off his advances, but the man just didn't understand the meaning of the word "no".

"The whole town's talking about it," continued Gaston as Belle reached around his legs and picked the book out of the puddle. From where Layla was standing it didn't appear to be damaged. "It's not right for a woman to read. Soon she starts getting ideas and… thinking." He said the last word as though having a sound mind was a plague to women everywhere, but Layla was convinced he'd never used his brain more than twice in his life. "Besides, you and your sister should be out trying to find strapping, handsome, young men to marry." He flexed his muscles as impressively as possible with every description. In the back of her mind, Layla registered that it was the first time in the conversation he had even acknowledged her existence.

"Gaston," Belle remarked as she pulled herself up from the ground and wiping her book delicately on her apron, "you are positively primeval."

Layla expected to see the look of arrogance wiped from Gaston's face but he merely grinned even more and sauntered over to Belle again. "Why thank you, Belle!" Seriously, how could he be this idiotic? It was almost embarrassing. "Say, why don't we go to the tavern and take a look at my trophies?"

Belle shot Layla a desperate look while trying to disentangle herself from Gaston's arm over her shoulder. Layla quickly reached under Gaston's arm and pulled her sister from his grasp. "Actually,Belle and I really need to get home." Layla shot him a too-big smile while he gave her a look that could have burned holes into solid rock. "Papa probably needs our help. Goodbye now."

LeFou let out an obnoxious guffaw. "That crazy old loon?! He needs all the help he can get!" Both men began to erupt in laughter.

"Don't talk about our father that way!" Belle cried angrily.

"Yeah, don't talk about her father that way!" Gaston clocked LeFou over the head, ever trying to get on Belle's good side.

"Our father's not crazy. He's a genius!" It was at that moment that the cellar of the little cottage decided to explode.

Gaston and LeFou's mocking laughter followed the girls as they ran up the path to their house. This sort of thing had happened before but it never failed to worry them. Maurice was getting on in years, but it had never stopped him from making inventions, each more eccentric than the last. The girls always supported his work and encouraged him to do what he loved, even if they were slightly concerned about the occasional explosions. Like now, for instance.

Smoke poured through the crack in the cellar doors and they were quickly thrown open to allow Layla and Belle to find their way down the stairs coughing and calling, "Papa? Are you alright?"

As the smoke cleared through the open doors, Maurice stood scratching his head, covered in soot and dust, in front of his latest invention. "Now why on earth would that have happened?"

Layla sighed in relief as her eyes settled on her father, who was miraculously unharmed. Adopted she may have been, but Maurice had told her long ago that she was as much his daughter as Belle was. She had thrown her arms around his neck then and cried happy tears, feeling so loved and wanted as she never had before. Belle rushed to Maurice's side and looked him over. "Are you sure you're alright Papa?"

Maurice waved her off and turned newly frustrated eyes onto the contraption. "Yes, yes. But I'm about ready to give up on this hunk of junk." He gave it a kick but the machine only shuddered.

"You always say that." Belle reminded him.

"Well I mean it this time," Maurice sputtered. "I'll never get this bone-headed contraption to work!"

"Yes you will, and you'll win first prize at the fair tomorrow."

Maurice harumphed and crossed his arms over his pudgy chest, giving his girls skeptical looks. Belle subtly gestured for Layla to help her out and the red-head came over to her father's side. "And you'll become a world famous inventor." Whenever Maurice was down about his inventions not working the way he wanted, it helped to mention that a day would come when he would be known throughout Europe and the rest of the world. When his girls would say that it never failed to put a twinkle back into his eyes.

"You really believe that, my girl?"

Layla gave his shoulder a squeeze and kissed his cheek. "I always have, I always will. Belle and I believe in you, Papa."

The inventor smiled before returning his attention to the contraption. "Well, if I'm going to win tomorrow then I suppose I better get to work hadn't I? Will one of you hand me that dog-legged clencher there?"

Belle retrieved said tool from one of the many shelves around the workshop while Layla sat on a stool near the machine and read her book by the light of the late afternoon sun. "Did you girls have a good time in town today?"

"We both got new books." Layla traced her fingers over the red leather again and had to remind herself that the book was all hers; it just felt too good to be true.

"Papa? Do you think we're odd?"

Layla's head snapped up at Belle's soft-spoken question. Belle never asked things like that; she was always so comfortable with who she was, even if it made her stand out among the crowd. Maurice seemed to be thinking along the same lines and answered, "My girls? Odd? Now where did you get an idea like that?"

Belle chuckled as she handed her father another tool. "I don't know. It's just that I'm not sure Layla and I fit in here. There's no one that we really talk to in town besides each other and the bookseller." That was true. As far as Layla could recollect she had never talked to anyone extensively besides the bookseller.

"What about that Gaston? He's a handsome fellow." Maurice was still under the machine but Layla could almost see his smirk.

"Sure, Papa, he's handsome alright," replied Layla. "And rude and conceited and―Papa there's no way he's the one for her."

Maurice emerged from under the invention, sporting a few new grease spots on his nose and arms, and looked at the two young women sympathetically. "Well, don't you two worry, 'cause this invention's gonna be the start of a new life for us." The inventor rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "I think that's done it. Now let's give it a try."

Once the lever was pulled the machine roared to life. It bumped and clanked as the conglomeration of objects that made it up ground together in a strange sort of mechanical dance. Layla watched with bated breath as the ax on the end of the machine began to hack at the small log sitting on a short table. After two thwacks the log had been cut cleanly in half and was flung across the room to land on a large pile of other cut logs. A smile broke across Layla's face as the machine continued to cut and cast away log after log. "It works! You did it! You really did it!" Belle exclaimed.

Maurice looked happily stunned for a moment before realizing that the machine was going to work. "It does! Girls,hitch up Philippe. I'm off to the fair!"

They didn't have to be told twice. It took less than an hour for Maurice and the girls to haul the invention into a cart, hitch the cart to the horse, pack what was needed, and send Maurice on his way. "When I come home with first prize," said Maurice as he mounted Philippe, "we'll go to all those wonderful places you girls have read about in your books. It'll be a new adventure for our little family."

"Just be sure you're careful on the roads at night, and keep warm." Layla cautioned. "It wouldn't do for you to present your first place quality invention to the judges with a cold."

Maurice laughed and dug his heels into Philippe's side. As horse, rider, and invention moved down the path and Maurice waved farewell to his daughters, Layla couldn't help but feel a new chapter beginning in her life. In a few days they would be out of this tiny provincial village and going to see the great cities of the world: Paris, Barcelona, Rome, Athens, oh what an adventure it would be!

Δ Δ Δ

"What do you want Prince Charming to be?"

In the darkness of night Layla sat up and stared at where her sister slept. "Why do you ask?"

Though Layla could not see her sister clearly, the moon did offer her a bit of light with which to see Belle's silhouette. "When Papa suggested that I get to know Gaston, you said there was no way he was the right one for me."

"Because he isn't."

Belle laughed. "Well, I know that obviously. But it got me thinking: what would you say you would want Prince Charming to be?"

For a moment, Layla sat back against her pillows and was silent with thought. When she spoke it was slow and calculated. "He must be kind, caring, and honest; handsome, but not arrogant; brave, but not foolhardy; smart, but not demeaning."

"What faults would you permit him to have?"

The silence before she answered that question was even longer. "I suppose I would permit him whatever faults I might have. I know I'm stubborn and I will argue until I'm blue in the face, even if I'm wrong. I know I have a bit of a temper, so I would not blame him wholly if we fought, unless he was just blatantly wrong. Don't you think that by saying all this I'm not giving myself realistic expectations for a husband?"

"He's called Prince Charming for a reason you know. Think of this as a very rough guideline. Maybe your future husband won't have all of those qualities but he will have most of them, hopefully more of the good ones than the bad ones."

"Well, what about you? What's your rough guideline for the perfect man?"

There was almost no hesitation in Belle's answer. "As long as he's not Gaston, I think I'll be alright."

They laughed for a good long while then. "Maybe you should marry Quasimodo then." Layla joked. "He truly is everything Gaston is not!"

"While I do admire Quasimodo's devotion and sacrifice, I do think I would like my husband to be a bit more handsome than the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Does that make me sound vain?"

"Perhaps a little. But I think that the idea of marriage is one where girls are allowed to be a bit vain. Everyone dreams of marrying the handsome prince."

Layla yawned and said her goodnights to Belle with a smile on her face, hoping to dream of her Prince coming to rescue her from this life of boredom and constancy. But in her sleep she saw not a handsome man on a white horse, but a cage. A dark, black, smoky cage that had a man trapped inside. Layla reached for him but he shook his head sadly and gestured to the bars entrapping him.

"Tell me where the key is. I can get you out!" She tried to take a step towards him, but and invisible force stopped her from trying to grasp his thin hand.

"Another must be saved before I can be free." His voice was tired, strained, like he had given up hope for freedom a long time ago.

"But you'll die! Please, let me help you!"

The man's icy blue eyes bored into Layla's grassy green ones. She felt as though he was looking into her soul. "Find him. Find the one who needs to be saved."

When Layla awoke the next morning she felt as though she had forgotten something important and no matter how hard she thought on it she could not work out what it was.

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**Review, favorite, and follow the story maybe? It means so much to me!**

**Have a Lovely Day,  
Joni**


	3. Chapter Two: Objection!

**PLEASE DON'T HURT ME! I KNOW I SORT OF DROPPED OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH BUT IT WAS FOR A VERY GOOD REASON!**

**Perhaps I should explain to all of you, my dear readers, the way I write. It is not a complicated process truly and I expect most of you are very well acquainted with it, so I shall not bore you nor take up more of your time than is necessary in explanation. **

**MY WRITING PROCESS:**

**1.) I write the chapter without paying attention to errors I make as I write.  
****2.) I go back over the chapter and fix whatever I notice is wrong.  
3.) I reread the chapter and edit again.  
4.) I edit one more time for editing's sake.**

**All in all this process should take me about a week or two but my muse hates me sometimes and writer's block is malady that also plagues me. I hope you can understand that the length between updates is not so that I can torment you, but because I want you all to read the very best version of my work. If it was not the best, why would I let you read it?**

**Moving right along, please enjoy this next installment in our journey together.**

**Disclaimer: I only own my OCs. The rest belong to those who first created them.**

* * *

Objection!

Again, the morning dawned as it had the day before, but inside the little cottage on the outskirts of the village, everything was a little quieter than normal. Since they were small, Belle and Layla had grown used to the whistles and dings that often sounded from the cellar while Maurice worked on inventions. Now that he had gone off to the fair, the girls felt that the house was filled with a strange silence. It wasn't necessarily unwelcome, just strange since now it was only their voices that could fill the quiet house as the morning dragged on.

It didn't take long for Belle to retrieve her book and begin reading. Figuring she'd be occupied for the next couple of hours at the very least, Layla tied an apron around her dress and went outside. The crisp morning air filled her lungs, making her feel more alert and energetic. Her sleep had not exactly been restless, but there was something niggling at the back of her mind, an important detail that she had been trying to remember all morning. She knew that she had dreamed last night―but about what? Whenever she thought on it too long a massive headache would begin to creep up on her. The only details she could recall from the dream were black smoke and a soft voice calling for help in her head. She thought to ask her sister, but Belle wouldn't know what to make of it anymore than Layla did, so she did her best not to think of the mysterious dream and focus on the day.

Out in the yard, fresh dew dappled the grass with diamonds, which sparkled radiantly as the sun banished the gloomy shadows night had left behind. Birds filled the air with sweet ditties as the breeze murmured through the trees carrying a gentle chill. It was the kind of morning to be outside simply appreciating all the beauty of the world. Belle could stay inside for hours, only thanking the sun for the light it gave her as she turned the pages of her newest book. There were days where Layla could do that, but when the weather was clear and the sun was out something made Layla want to get up and keep moving. Maurice teased her sometimes, as she stared out the cottage's windows during the winter, that she was counting down the days until spring arrived. It wasn't too far from the truth; being cooped up made Layla stir-crazy. Her love of reading never dampened, always fierce, and her mind was always searching for a new story to entertain her imagination. But the outdoors were an endless world of color and shadow; everywhere she turned there was something new to be found; and there were days where she liked nothing more than to go out and explore the mysteries the hills and trees around her house had to offer.

The cottage's door had barely clicked shut behind her when Layla found herself running across the grass, not caring one bit as she kicked up dew drops and dirt, which dirtied her long legs. She ran and ran until her lungs felt like they were filled with fire and her legs burned in much the same way. Onto the wet grass she fell, opening her eyes to see the sky above her. The stars had long since faded while the clouds drifted and shaped themselves into ever-changing patterns. As her breath came back to her, Layla sat up and looked around at the place she had fallen. It was the gentle slope of a hill where she had come to rest. Small flowers lifted their heads to the sun and danced as the breeze caressed them. This is paradise, the lovely girl thought, and I wish the world was always like this.

It was a sweet thought, but an empty one, Layla knew. The world was far from perfect―a fact she was well acquainted with. Memories of the dark and cold and hunger lingered on the edges of her mind, but it was easier to refuse them entry now than it had been when she was young. She shook her fiery hair out of her face, refusing to allow such morbid thoughts to dampen her elation at the beautiful day. For a while she simply sat on the hillside, thinking of nothing but the loveliness of the view, when a strange sight suddenly caught her eye.

A group of men were approaching the yard at the back of the house, carrying long poles, stakes, and copious lengths of rope and canvas. They had only begun to push the stakes into the soft earth when more men arrived, bearing the weight of wagons filled with a strange assortment of items: benches, flower arrangements, white banners. As a matter of fact, a majority of the items being set up around the yard were white. A wedding? A twinge of suspicion stirred in Layla's gut. Who on earth would want to have a wedding in our backyard?

Skirt hiked to her knees, Layla ran down the hill, surprisingly managing to do so without falling and rolling down the rest of the way. By the time she was on smooth earth again, the yard was filled with men shouting instructions to their companions. Despite all the cacophony, Layla could see a long, red carpet being rolled out to serve as an aisle. At the end of the carpet, a flowered arch was being erected as the local priest, Father Élie, standing underneath the woven arrangement of lilies and white roses. It took a moment for Layla to navigate through the throng of people carting in all manner of decorations. "Father Élie!" The balding priest beckoned her over with a smile on his face.

"Dear Layla," he smiled and grasped her hand. "What a joyous day it is, truly. I cannot think of a better day in which to perform a ceremony in the Lord's beautiful creation."

"Indeed, Father, I agree most heartily," Layla enjoyed listening to the priest but he did tend to ramble a bit. "But might you be able to tell me just what is going on?"

Normally, if Father Élie had that twinkle in his wise eyes, Layla would expect him to make a joke or a witty remark during a lesson, but now it only made her more nervous. "I expect your sister will be very surprised at the suddenness of all this, but the whole village has been expecting it for quite sometime. I don't suppose you're very surprised at all this either. It must be so exciting for you to see your sister married!"

Layla's heart felt as though her blood were freezing in her veins as the words left the Father's mouth. Though she already knew the answer, her mind felt sluggish, the turning of her stomach was making her nauseous. "Forgive me, Father, but who exactly is my sister marrying?"

"Why me, of course!"

Dear God, help me, the young women thought as the dreaded voice reached her ears. She turned slowly, praying that she had fallen asleep on the hill and this was all a very bad dream. Unfortunately, Gaston was striding toward her, very horribly real, dressed in a fine suit. In fact, if Layla didn't dislike the way he obsessed over Belle, she might have said he looked very handsome. The crisp white shirt and red overcoat accentuated his muscles in just the right way. His raven hair was pulled back in a horsetail at the nape of his neck. But the whole ensemble just fell apart at his cocky smile.

"I most certainly object," Layla stated as he sauntered up to her.

Gaston laughed and patted her head. "Now, now, Layla, don't be a spoil sport. You know Belle will be jumping for joy, and you wouldn't want to ruin her special day!"

"Jumping for joy she may be, but I'm sure it will be when you are out of our house."

The arrogant hunter continued to smile at her, as one would at a petulant child. It aggravated her to no end. He turned his attention from Layla to Father Élie. "Father, is everything prepared for the ceremony?"

The old priest smiled. "We can proceed just as soon as the bride is ready."

Layla wanted to tear her hair out in frustration. Couldn't anyone see that her sister didn't want to marry Gaston? No, of course they can't, Layla thought bitterly. That brute has them all eating out of the palm of his hand.

Gaston finished his talk with the priest, and Layla was gearing up to give him a piece of her mind, but he beat her to the punch and began to speak. "Now look at you! What am I thinking? If you don't hurry along there's no way you'll be ready in time."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well every bride needs a maid of honor doesn't she? Girls!"

The blonde triplets, who were forever fawning over Gaston, appeared at his side. All three were teary-eyed and sniffling. Even so, they were caressing his arms, perhaps hoping that he would change his mind and propose marriage to one of them. As much as Layla wished that would happen, it would probably take an act of God to stop Gaston at this point. Not that Layla didn't trust her sister to give him a sound verbal thrashing. Meanwhile, Gaston continued to smile at the girls. "Now ladies, why don't you take Layla and get her ready?"

"Oh, Gaston, do you have to?!" one cried pathetically, latching onto one muscular arm like a leech.

"I'll die without you! I swear I shall!" whimpered another.

"I want you more than anyone in the world!" the third sobbed.

Gaston soaked up their attentions like a sponge, looking at the girls sympathetically. "Girls, girls, please! My bride awaits, so you must run along and get Layla ready." Then with a pat to each of their heads, the hunter walked off to see the baker, who was pulling in a wagon containing a very elaborate cake.

"I want to talk to my sister!" Layla called after Gaston.

The raven-haired man turned back to her with an irritated light in his pale eyes. "But that would ruin the surprise, now wouldn't it? Just let the girls take you to get ready."

Defiantly, Layla glared at him, wearing a smirk. "She'll get rid of you so fast you won't know what hit you."

"Oh, I don't think so," the arrogant man replied. He took Layla's chin in his hand, the grip just a bit too tight. "Your sister has just been playing a little game of hard-to-get. She knows what a good match I would make for her. Now run along with the girls and get ready!"

The triplets sniffled as Gaston left before turning to Layla and pulling her along to a tent, much smaller than the one Layla had being set up earlier. There wasn't much inside, just a changing screen with a dress hanging over it and a vanity, which had all manner of cosmetics laid out. Heaving a great sigh, Layla accepted her fate and disappeared behind the screen. The dress was really quite pretty, and the ruby color set off her fair skin and green eyes very well. The style was simple, not unlike the longer dresses of the ladies in town, but the material was much finer. Not quite silk, but something equally soft; Gaston had spared no expense in anticipation for his wedding. Hopefully, his investment won't pay off, Layla thought vindictively. Changing into the dress didn't take nearly as long as she hoped, what with the triplets flitting around her morosely, helping to do up the laces on the back. They pulled her over to the vanity, sat her down, and began to go about their various tasks. One began brushing her hair and pulling it into an elaborate braid; another took the cosmetics and applied them to her eyes, cheeks, and lips; the third simply stood beside the mirror sniffling loudly. Layla didn't pay much attention to their whining, it was all about the same subject anyway. Her eyes remained focused on the mirror, but her mind was far away, dreaming of somewhere else. Maybe it was the worlds she knew from her books, maybe it was a place of her own making, all she knew was that she and her family were happy there. Maybe a cottage by the sea in the south of France or Italy. As she was imagining the smell of the salt and the sound of the waves on the shore, a voice suddenly called out, very loud, "Help me, please!"

And it hit her. That voice, she realized, my dream. It's the man from my dream! The smoky cage, the man trapped inside, begging for her to help him by saving another, all of it came back to her. He must be close by. I have to find him!

In a flash, she was up and running, barely hearing the triplets protest at her fleeing from the tent. The voice continued to call out for help, but she could not tell what direction it came from. Everyone around Layla was milling about, setting up for the ceremony, and acting completely normal. How could they not hear the voice calling for help? It was so desperate and sad it tore at the young woman's soul, reaching to her for comfort and relief. She continued to run through the crowd, some noticing her rather disheveled appearance―after all, her hair was not quite done―others simply continuing with their work. Layla ran until she reached the yard in the very front of the house; a band, led by LeFou, was waiting for the arrival of Gaston and the bride-to-be. Sprinting onward, a fat hand suddenly caught her by the wrist.

"Where d'you think you're goin'?" LeFou asked.

Layla easily pulled her wrist out of his grasp. "Didn't you hear it?"

The little lackey scrunched up his eyes in confusion. "Hear what?"

"There was a voice, calling for help. It was very loud, how could you not hear it? Where was it coming from? Tell me!"

Layla gripped the collar of LeFou's jacket, probably looking just a shade desperate. He quickly brushed her hands off and stepped away. "Don't know what Gaston's thinkin', marrying into your family. Bunch of crazies, you all are!"

Realizing she didn't have time for his rambling, Layla took off again, around the house and up to the hill where she had been earlier that morning. This time, she didn't stop until she reached the top of the hill. Around and around she turned, hoping to hear the source of the voice better from the top of the hill. She strained her ears, but all she could hear was the shouting of the voices around her house and the whistle of the wind. The voice did not call out again, and Layla was beginning to think she was going crazy, hearing voices in her head, when she heard footsteps tromping up the hill. "Stupid, arrogant, absolute―argh! Whatever could have made him think I would accept him?!"

"He thinks he's God's gift to women."

Belle jumped at the sound of her sister's voice, but quickly recovered and embraced her. She looked Layla up and down. "It's beautiful but what on earth are you wearing?"

The redhead shrugged. "I was going to be your maid of honor. Speaking of which, where's my brother-in-law?"

Belle shivered at the term "brother-in-law". "Hopefully, he's finally gotten the message; I sort of threw him into the mud puddle by the front door."

Layla burst into laughter at that, Belle soon joining her. It was great fun to imagine Gaston's handsome face covered in mud, his best clothes ruined and dripping. Both girls fell to the ground, sides aching with laughter, until they calmed down enough to form coherent sentences. "How did you get out of there?" asked Belle. "It looks as though you were in the middle of getting ready."

"Gaston had the triplets take me to get dressed and whatnot. They did nothing but whine about how he wasn't choosing one of them."

"He could make this situation a lot easier on himself if he actually chose a girl who wanted him."

"Quite."

"But how did you manage to get away?"

"I take it you didn't hear it either then."

Belle quirked one dark brow up in confusion. "Hear what?"

Layla sighed and recounted the story of her dream, which she hadn't remembered until recently, the trapped man and his call for help, and then hearing his voice just moments ago. Belle listened quietly, as she always did, until Layla finished. The brunette looked thoughtful rather than disbelieving and took a moment before answering. "Do you suppose you just daydreamed it?"

"I suppose it's possible, but I was hearing the voice until I came up here."

Belle didn't offer any other suggestions and Layla couldn't think of anything else to say. The grass swayed around them as the sun began to dip towards the western horizon and they contemplated all that had happened in one short day. Finally, Layla broke the silence, saying, "Perhaps we should go inside? I've spent entirely too long in this dress and am absolutely famished."

She stood, offering a hand to Belle, who took it and was hauled to her feet. "I could make a simple vegetable soup and I think we have a bit of bread left."

Layla could already imagine the heavenly smell. "That sounds like a real—"

A frightened whinny, and the animal that accompanied it, suddenly burst through the treeline near where the sisters were standing. It was Philippe, snorting and rearing in fear, an empty cart strapped to his back and no rider. A cold feeling fell over Layla's heart.

Belle rushed to the normally gentle horse and calmed him until his harsh whinnying turned into a nervous nicker. Layla met Belle's eyes, filled with a great deal of fear but also determination. "It looks as though vegetable stew will have to wait until we find Papa."

Nodding, Layla ran down to the house to pack a quick saddlebag; just some bread and a couple of blankets. On an impulse, the redhead grabbed the book that had been gifted to her the day before. After changing her clothes and washing her face, she made sure to grab a cloak for Belle and herself on her way out the door. Her sister was already on Philippe's back and waiting for her when she emerged. After buckling the saddlebag into place, Belle gave Layla a hand up until the other was settled comfortably behind her. "Take us to him, boy," she whispered in Phillippe's velvety ear. With a light kick to his sides, the horse set off at a canter, taking the pair into the unknown.

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**Leave a review? Maybe favorite and follow? In other news, my birthday is tomorrow so... VIRTUAL CAKE FOR ALL!  
Enjoy your day!**

**Lots of Love,  
Joni**


	4. Chapter Three: Search and Rescue

**I honestly do not have an excuse for my abhorrent updating schedule, which isn't even really a schedule. HOWEVER... I am in college now so things are honestly gonna be a little bit tougher for me because while I would love to do nothing but read and write fanfiction until the feels just utterly destroy me, life says, "NEIN!" **

**So again, I apologize profusely for leaving all of you hanging for so long and I honestly am trying to be better about updating. **

**But here's another thing guys: I write for YOU. Not for me but for YOU. And when I post a new chapter and all I see is a couple favorites, maybe a follow if I'm lucky, and the rest is just normal views I kinda get a little worried. There's this saying that goes, "We are our own worst critic," and that is definitely true of writers. So when I don't get a lot of real feedback about my work, I start to worry that even though you're following the story and you've favorited it you maybe aren't enjoying it as much as I wish you were. And then I don't want to post anything because the depressed and irrational part of my writing muse is like, "They don't really like it anyway so what's the point?"**

**Yeah, I'm a drama queen but it would really make me so happy if I got reviews from you guys. I don't really care what they are, constructive criticisms, compliments; I don't really care as long as they are not demeaning or overly and unnecessarily critical. So please, please, PLEASE leave me reviews so I have motivation!**

**Okay, on a reviewing note, I wanna give a shout out to user Winterinred who has been helping improve my story with reviews full of lovely constructive criticism. Thank you so much!**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Disney's BatB only my OCs. Now read!**

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Search and Rescue

The forest was dark and quiet, the night growing even darker and colder as Belle and Layla rode through the trees. Neither had any idea where the horses were taking them, or what they would encounter when they arrived at their unknown destination; they only hoped to find their father safe and sound.

The forest was shrouded in mist and dark foliage, and much of the time Layla couldn't tell what was living and what was not. A shiver ran down her spine; it was unusually cold, even for September―the wind delicately brushing her face with cold talons―but it wasn't just the wind that was making her uneasy. Every instinct she had was telling her to turn and run, and the urge became stronger with every beat of the horse's hooves against the ground. Layla pushed the fear back, trying to be rational. _There's nothing to be afraid of, _she kept thinking. _Be reasonable. You have to find Papa. _The girl took a deep breath and gave her sister a squeeze, signalling her that she wanted to go faster. Belle complied and pushed Philippe to a gallop. The dark trees flew by both riders until an ominous shape was suddenly silhouetted against the sky. The towers of a once-grand castle came into view, as dark and forbidding as the landscape around it. Despite its ghastly appearance, Laylah could feel something inside the castle calling to her, almost like an itch that demanded to be scratched. A weak echo in her head made her think of the voice, calling for help, that she had heard during Gaston and Belle's almost-wedding.

The girls stopped in front of the wrought iron gate that led onto the stone causeway. "What is this place?" Belle wondered.

Layla wished she knew. While her gut told her to run from this place now and never look back, her heart told her to go closer and sate her curiosity. While tying Philippe to the gate, Layla looked up to find her sister already inside, picking something up from the rain-soaked stone. "Belle, what is it?"

The brunette turned to her and Layla felt her blood run cold when she saw what Belle held in her hands. It was Maurice's hat. "He went into that awful place?!"

Belle sighed heavily, "It appears that he did. I suppose we can only hope that the master of this castle took care of him."

Layla didn't say anything to that but she didn't have very high hopes. From the look of the place, it didn't appear as though anyone benevolent lived there. Why would someone allow such a grand home to become so scary? Layla walked to her sister's side and held her arm as they began their walk down the causeway. The castle looked even less pleasant the closer they got to the heavy wooden door. The entire place was built out of dark stone and gargoyles with strange, terrible faces looked down on the two girls menacingly. When they finally reached the heavy door they didn't bother knocking, instead just pulling it ajar and squeezing inside.

The chill from the outdoors seemed to seep into all the corners of the vast entrance hall, as though the place had lost all of its warmth long ago. Not a torch or fire was lit, the only light came from what little of the moon that filtered in through the cracks between the heavy drapes that hung over all the high windows. The slightest sound of the girls shoes hitting the thick, red carpet echoed on the walls and though Layla was anxious about calling out for anyone Belle had no qualms with letting forth a hesitant, "Hello? Is anyone here?"

Her cries rang in Layla's ears as the echo of Belle's voice went on and on. She was surprised that no one had come running at the first sound of the door opening. This castle obviously belonged to someone of high status, so why were there no servants running to see who had just come in the front door? While the castle ignited her curiosity, Layla's instincts kept telling her to run, that there was a reason this place was dark and forbidding; so that no one would come here. A hundred dark passages lay along every hall the girls explored, and though they wished to find their father as quickly as possible, they had no wish to split up and cover more of the castle in less time. They had lost count of the number of passages they explored, calling for Maurice softly every few minutes, when a door suddenly creaked open to their right. "Papa?" Belle called, hope shining through in her voice. She exchanged a glance with Layla and the girls walked over to the door, which creaked even more as it was opened.

A light shone at the top of a stone stairwell. "Hello? Is someone here?" As Belle spoke the light began to advance farther into the tower. "Wait! My sister and I are looking for our father, we're―"

Belle ran into the tower with Layla at her heels. Her fear suddenly grew stronger, signaling that danger lay ahead though she could see no immediate threat. Only a golden candelabra and a single torch provided light to the tower, which Layla could slightly make out to be a dungeon. In her books, dungeons were always underground and were dank, damp, and filled with rats and all manner of vermin. This dungeon was nothing like that; it was still a prison but it was relatively clean, with only small puddles of rainwater let in through the high windows adorning the stark stone floor. It was also cold, almost unbearably cold, and Layla began to shiver, trying to pull her cloak tighter around her arms. Belle inspected the room with a quizzical glance, wondering aloud, "That's funny, I'm sure there was someone… _Is_ anyone here?"

An astonished voice echoed from the cell in front of them. "Belle?"

Belle's reply to their father's call was lost on Layla as she heard another voice. It was so weak, so fragile, it was begging for help, and it was coming from the cell right next to Maurice's. Belle had taken the torch from its stand but Layla could still see well enough from the glow the fire cast around the stone room to peer into the cell. The inside of the cell was just as sparse and cold, if not colder, than the tower itself. A bed of hay was stacked in the corner and on it lay a figure, wrapped in a few thin blankets. Whatever it was, it was thin; so thin that Layla might have mistook it from a skeleton if it hadn't opened its eyes and lifted its head when she drew close to the cell door. The figure was a man with long, coppery brown hair that shone in the ray of moonlight that fell down on him from the high window. It was obvious that he had been in this place for years as his hair was overgrown and tangled in such a way that it hung limply over his face and ears. His dark, overgrown, beard was just as messy as his hair and the smell from inside the prison told Layla he hadn't bathed in a long time. He looked at her with stunning icy blue eyes that told her that he was in pain, that he was afraid, and that he was dying.

He was the man, the one trapped in the smoky cage. Layla hadn't expected him to _actually _be a prisoner. She desperately wanted to call out to him but tears choked her voice.

Belle's voice filtered back into her hearing, even as she gazed at the prisoner. "Layla and I have come to take you home, Papa."

"You brought your sister?!" Maurice's panicky voice snapped Layla fully out of her trance. She turned to her father, hoping to soothe him, but he wouldn't let her get a word in before he continued, "Both of you must leave this place, _now_!"

"Not without you," declared Layla.

Suddenly, the man's voice came into her mind again, speaking one word, "_Run."_

His warning came too late. Layla saw a dark mass move towards her and Belle, dragging them away from the cells and throwing them to the ground. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" roared a voice.

"Girls, run!" Maurice called desperately.

Belle's torch had landed in a puddle a ways away and now the dungeon tower was engulfed in shadows and sparse moonlight. Belle looked around frantically, grabbing Layla's hand and pulling her closer. "Who's there? Who are you?"

"The Master of this castle." The dark shape Layla had seen earlier glared at the girls from the shadows. Whatever he was, he definitely wasn't human. He was tall and hunched with a thick body that reminded Layla of a tree trunk. Angry blue eyes took her appearance and his growling, animalistic voice sent shivers up her spine.

"_Don't speak," _the voice warned. "_Please. I would rather you did not end up where I am."_

Layla was too shocked to say anything, even if she had wanted to. But Belle had managed to recover her voice. "We've come for our father. Please, let him out," she begged. "Can't you see he's sick?!"

"Then he shouldn't have trespassed here!" The voice roared and it filled Layla with dread, more than she thought she would be able to feel.

"But he could die! Please, I-I'll do anything!" The desperation in Belle's voice made Layla's heart sink; they were running out of options, and it seemed that the mysterious "Master" wasn't interested in a deal.

"There's nothing you can do. He's my prisoner."

"There must be some way I can―wait!" The creature turned back at Belle's protest allowing only one angry eye to be seen over his hunched shoulder.

Belle glanced at Layla, then at their father before bowing her head and murmuring, "Take me instead."

The creature scoffed. "You?!" Then he seemed to reconsider, like he had only just thought about what was being offered, and it shocked him. "You would take his place?"

Maurice protested desperately but Layla could see that there was no turning her sister away from her decision. "If I did would you let him and my sister go?"

When her sister said those words Layla felt a coldness settle over her heart. Belle wanted to trade her freedom, _her life_, for hers and their father's. She had to think quickly; there was no way she was leaving her sister alone with whatever that thing was.

"They will both go free," the Master promised. "But you must promise to stay here forever."

Layla saw Belle blink several times and she wanted to beg her sister to take back her deal; they could always find another way―truly, there wasn't another way, but Layla would do anything to save her sister from this fate. Belle returned her eyes to the figure in the shadows and said, "Come into the light."

Every motion the creature made was slow and deliberate, as though he wanted them to see how horrible every part of him was; perhaps to make Belle reconsider; maybe because with every move he made into the little pool of moonlight, he had to gather his courage just to continue moving. When the whole of his form was revealed, Layla swore her heart stopped beating for a moment from sheer horror.

He _was_ an animal; a conglomerate of creatures, warped and thrown together in such a way Layla wanted to tear her gaze away, but found her eyes would not obey. There was nothing human about about him save for the sorry, tattered breeches and maroon cape he wore. The angry blue eyes that had shone so brightly from the darkness in the shadows glared at her with utter contempt and another emotion that Layla couldn't place. Belle clutched her hand tighter and gasped in terror while Layla's eyes remained fixed on the creature in the moonlight. "No, Belle, I won't let you do this!" Maurice held the shoulders of his daughter but she pulled away from his and Layla's grasp and moved toward the Beast. She carried herself like a soldier as she approached her would-be jailer.

"You have my word." Her voice hardly shook as she signed her life over to the monstrous stranger.

"Done!"

"Wait!"

Layla got up from the floor and approached the circle of light where her sister and the creature stood, shocked at her outburst. Layla steeled her nerves and hoped her voice betrayed none of her fear as she spoke. "I will offer my freedom in exchange for the life of the man in that cell." She pointed to the door just behind her and she heard a muffled gasp.

"Layla, what are you doing?"

She turned to Belle and looked at her with a sad smile. "You didn't think I was going to let you stay here on your own did you?"

"That's exactly what you were supposed to do!" Tears sparkled in Belle's hazel eyes. "You have to go with Papa. He'll need you, now more than ever."

Guilt squeezed Layla's heart as she thought about abandoning her father but something told her the man in the cell, whoever he was, would die if she didn't help him _now_. As much as Layla wanted to go free and save Maurice she would never forgive herself if she didn't save this man. "I have to do this, Belle. I love Papa with all my heart but that man will die if I don't help him." She turned back to the Beast with determined eyes. "My freedom for the life of the man in the cell. What do you say?"

He didn't answer her but instead stormed past her and threw the cell door open. There was a loud growl before he came out again and threw the man at her feet. He didn't move as his head collided with the stone floor. Layla immediately knelt next to him and lifted his head into her lap. She looked up at the Beast with incredulous eyes. "I have no use for him," he growled. "Kill him yourself if you wish."

Belle watched him with wide, frightened eyes as he dragged Maurice from his cell. "Belle, Layla, listen to me; I'm old, I've lived my life."

The girls held out their arms to embrace him but he was dragged away before they could say goodbye. "Wait!" Belle cried in desperation.

"Belle! Layla! Spare my daughters, I beg of you!" Maurice's voice grew faint as he was dragged from the dungeon and out of the castle.

"Please, wait!" Belle ran to the window of the dungeon cell and watched as their father was put into some sort of coach and taken away from the castle.

Layla felt a hollowness take hold over her. No tears came to her eyes but she could feel Maurice's absence washing over her like a wave. Now she would never go home, never borrow a book again, never run over the hills like an uncaged bird again; her freedom was gone, taken away by a monster who had locked the man in her arms in a cell for what could only be years. The tower door suddenly opened again and she heard two voices, one hesitant and soft, the other little better than a growl, speaking on the stairwell. The Beast suddenly emerged and went into the cell where Layla could hear Belle sobbing. As much as she wanted to comfort Belle and stay with her, she knew that the man would need immediate medical attention. Carefully, Layla draped the arm of the man around her neck and stood him up as best she could. He groaned as he tried to stand but he was so light that Layla could have carried him over her shoulder and his weight wouldn't have made much of a difference. It scared her to see how weak he was and to feel every rib in his chest against her side.

The Beast came out of the cell with Belle in tow and when he set his eyes on Layla holding the man up, she swore she saw intense pain in his eyes. It was gone and replaced with contempt again before Layla could ponder why he felt so much pain for a man he hadn't given a second thought to. "I'll take you to a room and send for the doctor," he growled begrudgingly. Layla nodded stiffly and followed after her sister and the Beast, who grabbed the candelabra from its spot in a little alcove, as they made their way out of the tower.

The castle felt even darker now that the girls were prisoners in it. Fearsome stone faces leered at them from the walls, seeming to taunt them for being trapped in this place forever. Layla did her best to keep up with Belle and their jailor but she was afraid that she might hurt the man if she moved too much or too quickly. However, she did manage to catch snippets of what he was saying to Belle; something about being able to go wherever they liked, except the West Wing.

Belle lifted her eyes and began to ask tentatively, "What's in the West―"

The Beast turned on her, fury in his eyes at having his authority questioned. "It's forbidden!" He roared, then he growled and continued to lead them down the winding castle corridors.

Time passed in tense silence until the quartet reached a great wooden door which the Beast opened and Belle stepped inside. "If you need anything, my servants will attend you."

It looked as though he would shut the door and leave Belle to her grief, but he added, "You will―join me for dinner. That's not a request!" And with that he slammed the door to the room and turned to Layla with rage in his eyes.

Anger stirred just under Layla's skin. More than anything she wanted to go up to this creature and tell him that she and her sister were not his to command as though they were little more than chattel. The expression in her eyes must have been enough to make the Beast turn his back to her and continue down the corridor. The walk was a short, silent one, but the air around the pair was charged with hostility; the journey could not go by fast enough. When it finally did end, Layla found herself in front of a set of oaken doors, so richly varnished the wood resembled warm caramel. A slight glow came from under the door, telling her that a fire had been lit not long ago. The Beast opened the door, then left with a grunt of, "This room connects to your sister's. If you need anything just call one of the servants." He left without a mention of dinner to her; whether he didn't care if she presented herself, or if he hated her for the fact she had traded her freedom away for someone her obviously despised, Layla couldn't say.

Layla walked hesitantly into the room. It was decorated in all shades of brown and cream, which gave it a feeling of warmth, especially with the fire lit in the corner. A huge four-poster bed dominated the room and had brown silk hangings with wonderfully fluffy and heavy cream sheets and blankets; soft pillows, filled with down, sprawled across the head of the bed, almost falling off the edges and onto the floor. A great wooden wardrobe sat across from the bed and cushy armchairs faced the fire. It would make a beautiful prison, Layla decided as she gently maneuvered the man's prone form onto the bed. The doctor, even a royal doctor, would take a few minutes to get to the room so Layla explored the room for a pair of scissors, a knife, and a brush, all of which she found in the very expansive bathing room. She then went to work cutting the man's long hair and shaving his thick beard; and the more she took away, the more handsome he looked. Though his face was sunken in he had an elegant jawline and high cheekbones which made his eyes seem a bit large and boyish. His nose sloped down nicely while his mouth already had faint lines around it, showing that he had loved to laugh and smile. Did he remember what it was like to be happy, or had the castle's dungeon leeched it from him as the years dragged by?

Layla cut his hair to about two inches past his ears and did her best to comb it back and get all the knots out. By the time she was finished with his face, he had only dark stubble adorning his strong chin. Even malnourished and very sick, this man was incredibly attractive. His build had been lean but not without muscle and his skin, though pale and sickly looking, had freckles dotting it.

He suddenly moaned and rolled over, curling in on himself, and holding his stomach. A knock sounded at the door and Layla breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever this man had, it was very serious. She opened to door and found no one outside. Had she imagined the knock?

"Mademoiselle," a deep voice called from by her feet, "if you would let me in please. As I understand it, your patient is quite ill."

Layla stared down at the sight in front of her. A medical bag was speaking to her, a brown leather medical bag was looking at her with eyes from behind a pair of spectacles and speaking to her with a very human looking mouth. But it was a medical bag, and medical bags didn't talk. Layla stared in shock for a few more moments before an agonized groan from the man snapped her out of her stupor and she allowed the doctor/medical bag inside to have a look at him. The bag promptly hopped over to the bed and used a stool sitting by it to inspect the patient.

While Layla stood by the door still trying to contemplate how this medical bag was talking to her, the doctor called her over. "Mademoiselle, if you would join me please."

Numbly, she walked over to the bed and sat down next to the man, across from the doctor. His eyes were very grave as he told her, "You were right to call me, miss. If he had been where he was any longer… Well, let's just say that we're fortunate the pneumonia is still in its early stages."

"He has pneumonia?"

"Indeed, and it would have been a very bad case had you not saved him. That was quite a brave thing you did, mademoiselle," he added, his eyes softening when he saw Layla's face fell. "I hope you will accept my condolences for your loss." He then hopped off the bed"

"Where are you going?"

"To get some medicine and ring for Mrs. Potts. She should bring up something light for him to eat; Lord knows he needs it."

So, Layla was alone again with the strange man. Since the doctor had come in, he had stopped moaning in pain but he was still curled up near the head of the bed, clutching his thin middle. Layla longed to try and wake him, to tell him that there would be food soon, but he was so tired and sick. Instead, she allowed her mind to wander to the many strange phenomenon she had witnessed since entering this dark place. Despite her vivid, active imagination Layla had a hard time convincing herself that magic existed in the world; that is to say, she didn't believe in the magic that could turn an ordinary doctor's bag into a sentient being. Yet everything about the castle offered her evidence to the contrary. How could a place as large and important as a _castle _be kept hidden for so many years? No one in the village had ever mentioned a castle in her years of growing up there, and of the few histories she had read from the bookstore, there was no account of any noble family living in the area in recent years. Therefore, Layla really had no choice to accept that _some _form of supernatural forces were at work. It was a staggering conclusion, to say the least.

The bed suddenly jostled as the man curled up at the head of it burst back to wakefulness with an anguished cry of, "Xan, no!"

Layla jumped back, startled from her thoughts. The man's wide, frantic eyes scanned the room and his thin chest heaved with great gulping breaths. With every glance around the room he relaxed, and before long a content smile grew on his face. His icy blue eyes settled on Layla and his grew even wider; it almost made him look a bit skeletal because of how tightly his skin was stretched over his face. "Either I'm dreaming or I died. Pray, tell me which it is?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation Layla found herself laughing softly. "Neither. I brought you here from the tower dungeon."

If it was possible, the man went even paler at her words and his eyes widened while filling with dread. "I-I'm free? _You _brought me here? How could I―" Horrible realization dawned in his eyes. "No. No, no, no, no. Please, _please_, tell me you didn't do what I think you've done."

Layla could almost taste his fear, his guilt, his despair, as he slowly put the pieces together. She wrung her hands nervously, staring at the floor. "I-I couldn't have left you there. I would never have forgiven myself if I had."

The man held his head in his hands. The breath in his lungs shook as it left his body and for a moment neither of them spoke until the man sat up again and took a steadying breath. His expression remained melancholy as he spoke. "So to whom do I give my thanks for saving my life?"

"Layla. My name is Layla."

He grasped her hand between his cold, thin, pale ones. "I am in your debt, mademoiselle. You have saved my life."

"You owe me nothing. I would like to know your name though and how you came to be in such an awful place."

He smiled. "Robert, at your service my lady."

"And how did you come to be here?"

Robert's eyes suddenly filled with such a deep sadness that Layla almost wished she hadn't asked. But he continued to speak, his tone somber yet resolute. "To be brief, I came to be in that cell because my brother didn't―doesn't―love me."

"He traded you away to that monster? What sort of debt would make him do such a thing?"

Robert huffed dryly. "You mistake me, mademoiselle. My brother never traded me to the Beast for any sort of debt; my brother _is_ the Beast."

Silence once again filled the room. Layla felt like this was something out of the myth of the Minotaur, a monstrous creature born of Queen Pasiphae and a sacred bull, which was slain in Daedalus's maze by the hero Theseus. Her face must have betrayed her horror because Robert quickly put a calming, yet freezing, hand on her shoulder. "You needn't worry. My mother never had any ah, encounters, with lovers of an animalistic nature. Alexander came to be how is by a spell."

It was so strange to hear that the creature who had locked Layla and Belle away forever had a name. It made him seem human, as if he was not capable of taking away the freedom of two girls and locking his only brother in a cell for years. She supposed he had been human once, if there really was a spell, but Layla's anger towards was easier to maintain if she simply thought of him in less-than-human terms. "So this castle really is...enchanted."

Robert nodded slowly and took a moment before answering, allowing Layla to fully accept the fact that she was a prisoner in a castle whose master was under some sort of spell along with his household, all of whom had been turned into household objects that were still able to move around and talk. This was a lot to take in after just a couple of hours. Sensing her distress, Robert turned her shoulders so that she was looking right into his eyes, which looked like a deep, frozen lake, gleaming in the weak winter sun. An untold story lurked in them, one longing to be told, if only to unburden himself from a bit of the pain it seemed to cause him. "I know this is a great deal to take in, and that it seems crazy, but please I… I want to help you."

Layla glanced sharply up at him. "You wouldn't rather help your brother?" And honestly, given his poor state of health, he seemed to be in need of more help than she did.

"By helping you, I will also help my brother."

"You mean break the spell that placed on him and the castle. But how can it be broken?"

Robert turned to her with hopeful eyes. "Do you truly want to know the story?"

Layla took his hands in her again, with determination in her green eyes. "If you think it will help me be able to help you, then yes."

He smiled at her then but it was a little bit sad, like he didn't want her to share in the pain that he had been subjected to. "It is a rather long story, mademoiselle. And one, I regret to say, starts near the beginning of my life. I hope you'll have the patience to listen."

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**Pretty please leave a review? If you read my note preceding the chapter then you know how much they mean to me.**

**Much love,  
Joni**


	5. Chapter Four: My Brother's Keeper

**I bet you guys are barely able to believe that you've gotten a new chapter so soon after the last one. But you did! **

**I'm also super happy that I've posted this chapter because it just so happens that this is actually the first chapter of this story that I wrote. Another one of the reasons it takes me so long to update is because I don't really write chapters in order, I write whichever chapter I feel like writing. For this story, I ****didn't feel like writing any other chapter until I had finished this one because this chapter has MAJOR backstory stuff that I wanted to set in stone before anything else was written. **

**Disclaimer: I still only own my OCs, Layla and Robert, everything else belongs to others. Enjoy the story!**

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My Brother's Keeper

_My life is what one would expect to hear about a prince. I had everything I desired: loving parents, anything I could wish for, servants who looked after my every need, but I had something else. Something I treasured beyond all other things; I had my brother, Alexander. We were twins, he and I, with him being older by about seventeen minutes. Father explained who would inherit what when we were young. Though Alexander would receive the province, the castle, and its lands I would still be given smaller estates and a very high place in the succession after my brother's children. We understood very little of what Father told us, we were children, content to rescue princesses from evil dragons and play little pranks on the servants in the castle. My brother loved me fiercely, and I him. There was never a moment that we weren't together. Our family was a happy one for twelve years._

_I suppose you know what is coming? I can see that look coming into your eyes, the one that asks the unthinkable. Yes, my parents died, just five days before my brother and I celebrated our thirteenth birthday. They suddenly contracted a fever and nothing the doctors did could cure it. In order to keep us safe, my father ordered that Alexander and I were to be kept far away from the rooms where he and our mother were staying. Every day, Alexander and I prayed for hours on end, until the hard floor of the chapel and our hunger drove us to the kitchens. The servants all offered assurances and Alexander demanded to be given constant reports on our parents' recovery. It was four weeks before the doctor said the only thing he could do was ease their passing. Before the end, they saw my brother and me separately. To this day I do not know what they said to my brother, but when he came out of that room he was crying; I had never seen him cry before. When the servants let me into the room, Mother held out her hand. I ran to her and clasped her hand as though if she felt me holding her hand it might save her. Tears were already streaming down my cheeks though I tried to appear strong as my father would have wanted me to be. Mother spoke to me first. "Darling Robert, you have grown up so much. I can scarcely believe that you will be thirteen soon. My sweet boy, I must tell you—"_

_"Shh, Mother. You mustn't try to talk. It will only make you worse." I scolded her as she suddenly dissolved into a fit of agonizing coughs._

_When the coughs finally stopped, she disregarded my scolding and spoke again, though her voice was weakened considerably. "You must promise me, my precious boy, that you will look after your brother. He will need you more than he knows after we are gone."_

_"Mother, you are wrong. I fear I will need him more than ever."_

_Mother smiled knowingly and cupped her hand against my cheek. Though the fever made her sweat and feel like her body was on fire, her hand was so cold but I pressed it against my cheek all the same. "Don't talk back to your mother," my father wheezed. "Have you no respect for your elders?"_

_"Forgive me, Father." Reluctantly, I left my mother's side and went to my father, whose hand I gripped just as tight._

_I could tell that he was holding my mother's hand under the blankets. In that moment, seeing their love for one another, even so close to death, caused my tears to fall even faster. "No tears now, boy." Father said. His voice was only an echo of the strong commanding tone it had once been, so taken by the illness as he was. "Your mother is right. Alexander will need you in the months to come. I have sent for your uncle but he is in Egypt and cannot come home for another year. I doubt the Council will want to intrude upon two grieving sons so Alexander will technically be Prince until your uncle arrives. You must do your duty: counsel him, advise him. Though he is young, with you by his side, I believe your brother will do well."_

_"I am young as well, Father."_

_"Don't interrupt. Just because I am ill does not mean that manners in my presence shall be forgotten!" His shouting brought on a coughing fit, and it was a moment before he could begin again. "Robert, you have always been different from your brother. His position as heir, and the responsibilities that come with that position, have hardened his heart. All softness he has is for his family. Soon your mother and I will be gone. The grief he feels may devour whatever compassion and love he has in his heart. If such feelings remain within him, they will be for you and you only."_

_I was so lost in my grief I did not comprehend what my father wanted of me. He seemed to see this and answered, "My son, you must stay with him always. If you do not, I fear he will let his grief consume him and destroy all he holds dear. Swear to me now, on your life and the love you hold for Alexander, that you will never desert him, that you will be his rock until the day you die."_

_I wanted to scream, to tell him that there was no need to speak as though he was going to die, but I held my tongue and gripped my father's hand tighter. "I swear to you, Father, that I will never desert my brother, I will stay by his side and be his rock until the end of my days. I swear this on my life and my love for him."_

_"Good man. Now go to your brother. It will not be long now."_

_And it was not long after that when Lumiere brought us the news of their deaths. I clung to Alexander as only one who is in mourning can. As you can imagine, our birthday that year was a somber affair. Their funeral was conducted on that day with only the servants. I tried as hard as I could not to cry but my tears were relentless. Alexander wrapped his arms around my shoulders and held me but I could feel no comfort in it; his face, though I expected it to be broken in sadness and grief as mine was, had turned to rock and his eyes became as cold as a winter storm. For the first time in my life, but certainly not the last, I was frightened for my brother. Despite my best efforts to be a comfort to him, it seemed my father's final words to me were coming to pass._

_Over the weeks, Alexander and I mourned the loss of our parents. But as I healed the void left in my heart by their deaths by spending time with whomever I could, Alexander shut himself away in the West Wing. He wouldn't come out for days and any food that was brought to him was barely touched. When he would come out, it was only to make a demand for some outlandish, expensive thing that he had no need for. For months, life in the castle continued in this way. I was so lonely and though the servants kept me from going absolutely mad, they could not understand me as Alexander did._

_A few weeks before Christmas in my fourteenth year, Alexander came out of the West Wing and began to order preparations for the holidays. I was so happy. I thought for a moment that perhaps things were finally going back to the way they had been. It didn't take long for me to realize that the Alexander who had emerged from the West Wing after months in solitude was not the Alexander from the days before my parents had died. His grief had consumed him, and instead of turning to his last remaining family, who needed comfort just as much as he did, he turned to his material possessions. I suspect he did this because of a great fear―a fear that he would wake up one day and I too would be gone, leaving him with no one. Any kindness that had been in his heart was gone, warped into some ugly, monstrous creature that I was forced to call brother. I hated myself for standing by him, but I had sworn to my father that I would be there for him in all things._

_As Christmas drew closer, he got worse. The servants were ordered to send out a list of gifts that he wished to be bought for himself; I stayed silent. The cooks worked day and night to create an elaborate Christmas feast; I held my tongue. One day, one of the girls didn't decorate a banister exactly the way he wanted it and he struck her; I comforted the girl after the incident but made no move to rebuke him. Christmas Eve came but it was not a celebration as it had been in years past. Instead, it was only a procession of gifts, all for my brother. I stood by his side and watched, wishing and praying that I could have my brother back, my real brother, the one I had loved._

_Lumiere came forward with a gift for my brother, given from all the servants; as much as he had changed, they still cared for him and tried to make him happy. He ripped the bright paper from the gift and I was touched by what I saw. It was a book, simple and leather-bound, that sat amongst the wrapping. I felt tears come to my eyes at the sight; Alexander did not feel the same way._

_"What is this?" he asked in a calm tone, betraying the icy storm I could see raging in his eyes._

_"A book, Master." Lumiere replied cautiously._

_"And why did you give me something as useless as a book for Christmas?"_

_Lumiere's eyes darted behind him, where all the other servants were already backing away in fear. "We thought you would like it, Master. Monsieur Perrault is an amazing writer and he―"_

_"I hate it! I don't want it! It's useless and I hate it!"_

_"But, sir―"_

_"I don't care! Get it out of my sight! Burn it, rip it up, I don't care what you do with it, but I never want to see it again!"_

_In that moment, as Lumiere moved forward to retrieve the gift, I felt a righteous anger welling up in my heart. They had worked hard to make this Christmas exactly how he had wanted it and he threw it back in their faces because their gift to him had not been grand enough. Though I had promised my father on his deathbed that I would look after my brother and stand by him always, I was certain that he would not have wanted to see his son become a monster. "Lumiere," I called. "Please bring that back. I wish to see it."_

_Astonished, he brought the book to me and I took it gently from his hands. It was a beautiful red leather, embossed with golden laurels and exotic flowers. As I opened it, the binding crackled just the slightest bit and the calligraphy on the opening page was so thin and swirling I marveled at the artistry of it. The pages were a creamy white color and some of them had illustrations done in watercolor to show what was happening in a certain story. So enraptured was I in the beauty of the gift that I failed to notice my brother's condescending sneer._

_"Come off it, Robert," he sneered. "It's worthless. Just give it back to them so they can throw it in the fire."_

_Slowly, I shut the cover and turned to face Alexander. "No." I replied, a strange steely tone in my voice. "If you do not want it, then I shall keep it."_

_Then he laughed, and it sounded nothing at all like the carefree sound I knew from childhood, more like an icy wind that brought only darkness. "I understand that you don't want to offend anyone, brother dear, but don't you think a gift like that is a little beneath your station? They are only the help after all."_

_"It's a beautiful gift. How can you not see that? They must have worked very hard to get it." I turned to Lumiere with kind eyes and a grateful smile. "Thank you so much for this, I love it. Merry Christmas, my friend."_

_The maitre'd smiled back. "You are most welcome, sir."_

_Alexander scoffed. "You are going soft, little brother. Wouldn't you rather have a new horse, or a new set of clothes?"_

_"They gave this out of the goodness of their hearts. That is more valuable than gold. Perhaps you should learn a lesson in gratitude." I added in a whisper._

_Immediately, his face contorted with rage, though he kept his tone deceptively calm. "What did you just say?"_

_I faced my brother with a boldness I didn't know I had. For so long, I had kept silent, allowing him to indulge his outrageous desires, and I felt all the anger and pain he had caused me come welling up with a vengeance. "I said, perhaps you should learn a lesson in gratitude. Our servants have given you a fine gift that some people in our province cannot easily afford or are not equipped with the knowledge to read. And what do you do? You say you hate it, that you want them to burn it! I had a brother once who reveled in the simple joy of receiving a new book. He would sit in one spot for hours, just to see how it would end. Where has that boy gone? Whatever happened to him?"_

_"He had to grow up and realize that the only things worth having are the ones that will never be lost."_

_"Then you are a fool. You cannot see that you are losing the most precious thing you have left; you are losing me, Alexander. You are so lost in wealth sometimes I think you don't even care that I'm here. If I were to die tomorrow, what would you do? Would you even notice? If you did, would you grieve for a moment before surrounding yourself with more material possessions? I can assure you that you will find no joy in them. They will never fill the gaping hole in your heart. And when you die, what will your subjects remember you as? A selfish, spoiled child who died alone, surrounded by nothing but his wealth, though he had nothing to do with it. You will become a monster, and everyone will hate you for it."_

_The silence that filled the hall was deafening. I counted four beats of my heart before Alexander spoke, his voice wobbling with rage. "You dare to speak to me like that? You may be a prince, Robert, but you are not the ruler. I am Father's successor and what I say goes; and if I say I want that book burned, then it will be burned. Now hand it over or I will make you."_

_I clutched the book closer to my chest and shook my head. As much as I felt like a child who had been caught doing something naughty, I would never have forgiven myself if I had let Alexander burn the book. The farther away I went from him, the faster he tried to approach me. "It is my book now, and I will decide what to do with it."_

_"They gave that worthless thing to me. You have no claim on it. Hand. It. Over."_

_"Never."_

_He moved so fast I barely had time to realize what he was going to do. My back hit the ground and all the air was knocked from my lungs with a force that left me gasping for breath. Alexander grabbed for the book that I had managed to keep in my arms. I threw it across the floor before landing a crushing blow to his face. It didn't take much to get him off me after that; he was so shocked I'd had the gall to hit him. After feeling the back of my head my fingers came away wet with a bit of blood. My heart broke in two and I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. My brother had hurt me. He'd hurt me and he hadn't cared. My brother, who I had shared everything with as a child, who I had rescued princesses with, who I had sworn to that I would love him forever and never let any harm come to him, had shoved me to the ground without caring what might happen to me. It hurt more than the wound on my head. I slowly picked my book up from the floor and walked towards the main hall. "Don't you dare turn your back on me, you coward," he screamed at me. "You want a fight, you'll have one! Face me like a man!"_

_I turned to him then and looked at him, really looked at him. "I may be a man but you are not. You are a beast, Alexander, and you are not my brother."_

_The world flew by in a blur after that. I know I went and changed my clothes, got my horse from the stables, took a bit of money, and rode off the castle's grounds. The whole time I rode on the path into the unknown, I cried. The tears never seemed to stop as I thought of every little bit of pain I had kept bottled up inside my heart. My parents were dead, my brother had lost me and I had no one left. My horse slowed down as my tears stopped and trotted along slowly until I saw lights through the trees. I had come to a town. For a moment I contemplated going back to the castle, seeing as I was apparently very far from home, but quickly decided that would not be the best course of action. Alexander's temper would be far from cool and I wasn't ready to look at him again without wanting to beat some good sense into him. So, I decided to stay the night in the town's only inn, which also happened to be its tavern._

_The man and his wife who ran the inn gave me a room for the night, a place in the stables for my horse, and a promise of a good meal for dinner and breakfast. There weren't many people drinking so late at night but there were a few tenants who sat around the fire telling stories. I listened while I ate the bread, cheese, and soup that the innkeeper's wife had given me for dinner. For a while the burden and troubles on my heart were eased as a war veteran told a tale of one of his fellow soldiers who got into a fight with a barmaid and lost very badly. I was just starting to get my breath back from laughter when there was a knock at the front door. A breeze of cold air reached my legs and while I tried to listen to the new story being told, I kept one ear open for what was going on just a bit away from me. From what I could hear, it was an old woman talking to the innkeeper._

_"Please, sir," she wheezed. "I have no money to pay for a room, but could you give me a few scraps to eat and an empty stable for the night? It's very cold out, sir."_

_I could tell the innkeeper was flabbergasted at her request; obviously he did not encounter these kinds of situations often. "Well, I don't know. We have many guest here this evening and I'm not sure who else will come in tonight." His voice betrayed his anxiety, and although I could sympathize with him a bit, I felt angry. This woman was clearly starving and cold and had only asked for the barest of accommodations. In that moment, I made a decision that would decide my fate._

_"Sir, let her in. I will pay for whatever she needs."_

_The innkeeper turned to me with an even more astonished look. I walked over to them and placed a few more coins in the man's hand. The old woman took my arm and said, "God bless you, child."_

_"Think nothing of it, grandmother." I led her over to one of the chairs near the fire and helped her sit down. "Let me go get you some food."_

_I brought her the same food that I had eaten for supper and she told me about her life as a child as she ate. As she spoke I imagined all the things she had told me in my head and wished that Alexander and I could have had a life like hers had been: simple and full of love. I was so lost in my head that I took me a moment to realize that she had finished her meal and was staring at me thoughtfully. "Forgive me, grandmother," I said sheepishly. "I did not mean for you to think I was not listening."_

_She waved off my apology and replied, "Sometimes people get lost in thought when something is weighing heavily on their heart."_

_I started a little. How could she have known? I had barely said a word to her from the time I met her, but yet she knew my thoughts troubled me. But I shook my head. "It is nothing to concern yourself over, grandmother."_

_She took one of my hands between hers and despite how cold she said she had been, they were warm. "I have talked enough of my past tonight. What troubles you, child? One as young as you should be happy and full of all life's joys."_

_And so it was that I told her all about myself, Alexander, our childhood, my parents' passing, and ending it all with what had happened that night. "The worst part of it all is," I remarked near the end of my tale, "I know I will go home tomorrow. I'll go home and nothing will have changed and yet I will still love him."_

_"He's your brother. Why wouldn't you love him?"_

_"I love who he used to be," I admitted. "When we were young and had no worries. I wish he could try to be that kind of man. Now he's a monster and cares for nothing except his material possessions."_

_The old woman seemed to think about this for a moment and then said. "Do you wish someone would teach him a lesson?"_

_I sighed; the thought had occurred to me. "Only if I was punished as well." At her questioning look I explained, "I feel as though I have made him into what he is in some small way. I indulged his excesses and said nothing when he would do something that I knew to be wrong. In that way, I am just as at fault as he. If he were to be punished then I would want to be as well."_

_The old woman smiled and squeezed my hand gently, which I hadn't noticed she'd been holding this whole time. "You have a good heart, child, and a wisdom far beyond your years. I see you being a great man someday. I can only hope that happiness will find you."_

_"Thank you, grandmother." I was touched by her faith in me, even though she had only known me for a few hours._

_"Now, if you would take me to my room, young man, I believe I will retire for the night." I offered her my arm and led her up to the second level of the inn which was all simple bedrooms._

_I said my goodnights and she thanked me again but I waved it off and told her to wake me if she needed anything. Then I went into my own room and didn't even turn down the covers before collapsing onto the bed in complete exhaustion._

_I dreamed that night; more vividly and strangely than I ever had before. Mist swirled around my feet and I could see no one through it. I called for anyone who might have been there with me but there was no answer, save for a lone figure who suddenly approached me from out of the fog. It was a woman, tall and beautiful, wearing a simple pink dress and a green cloak. Her hair was the color of the richest honey and her eyes were the most unusual I had ever seen. They seemed to contain the whole universe, with all its light and color, holding awesome power and wisdom in one small space. "Who are you?" I called suspiciously._

_She smiled kindly at me and put her hand on my shoulder. "Prince Robert, you have shown me a kindness this night that many others would not have. You have my gratitude and my blessing."_

_"I don't know you. I have never seen you before in my life." I pushed her hand from my shoulder and stepped back, ready to flee, even if it was only a dream._

_"Do you not?" she replied and she suddenly transformed herself into the old woman whom I had helped earlier that night._

_I stood in astonishment as I watched her transform back into the beautiful enchantress that she had been. "I can take any form I choose, but I find that the form of one who is poor is a much better way to test the hearts of men. And you have a pure heart, Robert, full of love for a brother who does not deserve you. Because of the kindness you showed me tonight, you will be spared the tragedy that has befallen his house."_

_She began to walk away but I suddenly remembered something that I had told her during our conversation and I wanted it honored. "I said I wished to share in my brother's punishment. I demand that you honor that wish."_

_Slowly, she turned back to me with a sad expression. "I had hoped you would forget about that. Unfortunately, I can only give a curse such as the one I have placed on your brother if the punishment fits the crime, as they say. Robert, you are in no way deserving of such a punishment, but perhaps I can give you a blessing and a curse. Something that will help you see through your brother's eyes, if only in a small way."_

_I hardly had time to argue before she touched two fingers to my forehead and hundreds of images began to pass through my mind. I saw my brother and I as children, then as teens by our father's grave, then with two women sitting by the fire in the castle library, then I saw my own name on a grave and a great group of people crying and laying flowers on it. The vision was over as quickly as it started and I found myself gasping for breath. The enchantress looked at me with pitying eyes. "You will not truly share your brother's pain, but you will understand it a little. The gift I have given you, once you learn how to use it, will have great power but it is also a burden. Help your brother or not, I do not care, the choice is yours."_

_She began to walk away again but when I tried to call out for her, to demand that she explain more of what she meant, my voice would not work. There was a pull from somewhere deep in my body and the next thing I knew, I was sitting up in my bed at the inn. The first light of dawn was just beginning to filter through the clouds from the snowfall last night but I could not bring myself to sleep anymore. Time moved too slow as I bolted down to the tavern and out the door, demanding the stable boy for my horse. As soon as I mounted, I was galloping back home as if Satan himself was snapping at my heels._

_When the castle's spires came into view I wanted to cry with relief, but as I crossed the causeway, I slowed my horse down. Something was wrong. A darkness had taken over my childhood home; the white angels and bright flowers that had decorated the castle in my youth were gone, replaced by dark gargoyles and even darker castle walls with rotting vines. Even the air around the castle seemed shrouded in a malicious mystery and the closer I got to the doors, the more I wanted to turn and run. I never did, though; I was determined to get to my brother. I put my horse back in the stables and entered the shadowy castle. Everything had an eerie feeling to it, as if the castle had seen no season but winter for centuries. The warmth that had come to my body whenever I would think of my home was gone, replaced by a cold loneliness that I didn't understand. I couldn't find any of the servants and I would have called for them if I hadn't felt as though my voice had been stolen by the cold that now encompassed me. Suddenly, I heard the sound of metal on stone and I tensed my body for a fight. What came towards me instead almost frightened me more than an intruder with a weapon._

_Before me stood a candelabra with two moving candles for arms and a face on his top candle. His long wax nose was eerily like Lumiere's, along with the very expressive eyes, but I thought such things to be impossible. "Master Robert!" the candle exclaimed. "Thank goodness you are alright!"_

_I backed away and demanded of the thing, who also sounded like Lumiere, "What sort of witchcraft is this?! Who are you and what have you done to my home?!"_

_The talking candle held up his arms in what might have been a placating gesture but I was too shocked to care. It had to be another dream, I just needed to wake up! "Please, sir," the candle was still talking to me. "Just come into the parlor and I will explain everything. I understand that you are frightened but I must ask you to come with me."_

_At the time I was certain I was dreaming so I warily followed this new Lumiere-candelabra into the parlor where I was faced with a very rude awakening: there was no way I could have been dreaming. This was too real, too vivid, seeing my servants staring up at me from the floor of the parlor as china, silverware, and other household objects almost proved too much for me to handle. Without really instructing my body to do so, I found myself sitting on the chair in front of the fire with a footstool whimpering at me from the ground. "Sultan?" I asked. The stool immediately began to bark and shake the tassels that now hung from the decorations on its back. I fought the urge to extend my arm and pet a footstool._

_"Master Robert, I know you must have a great deal of questions," Cogsworth, our head of household, who had now been transformed into a small mantle clock, began, "but perhaps it would be better if we allowed you to rest for a while? Your evening cannot have been a pleasant one."_

_I held up a hand and sat up straighter in the chair. "No," I commanded. "Tell me what happened."_

_Lumiere then launched into their story. A few hours after I left, an old beggar came to the castle's doors and asked for shelter in return for a single rose. My brother refused her and sent her away, but she turned into a beautiful enchantress who transformed him into a hideous monster and the servants into household objects. She explained that my brother had ten years to break her curse; he had to find someone to love and who would love him in return before the last petal on the rose she had offered fell from it's stem. "What I cannot contemplate, though," Lumiere remarked as he finished, "is how you managed to escape her curse. Please don't take offense, sir, but you appear to be very human."_

_I laughed humorlessly. "I wish it were not so, believe me."_

_"It would appear you have a story to tell as well, sir." Cogsworth replied._

_"Indeed, I do."_

_I told them everything that had happened while I stayed in the town. When I finished speaking about my dream they looked astonished. "Why would you wish to share in the Master's fate?" Cogsworth asked. "She offered you a chance of escape. Why not take it?"_

_"I felt I had helped make him into what he is. I never stopped him when I knew he was doing something wrong, I indulged him and turned him into a monster. We all did."_

_The servants hung their heads in shame. I had not meant to make them feel guilty but we all shared blame in this. "You said she gave you a blessing and a curse." Mrs. Potts, the cook-turned-teapot, said. "What is it?"_

_I sighed heavily. "I don't know. She said I can use it to help Alexander once I know how to control it. She said I would not truly share his pain but I would be able to understand it. I don't know what to do." I felt tears sting my eyes again and I buried my head in my hands. This was so much to take in on Christmas morning._

_After a moment, I took a deep breath and sat up. "Now I think it is time I went to see my brother. Where is he?"_

_Lumiere and Cogsworth glanced at each other nervously. "He is in the West Wing, sir," began the clock cautiously. "But I think it would be unwise for you to see him now."_

_"I will not be frightened of how he looks. He is still my brother and I am going to help him in any way I can."_

_I walked with purpose and the servants' protests soon faded from my ears as I made my way to the West Wing. But it did not look as it had when I left. Everything was broken and smashed to pieces, shredded by what appeared to be giant claws. The mirrors were nothing but shining fragments that distorted my image as I stared in horror at the destruction. What had my brother become? My heart pounded harder as I approached the door that led to the rooms where my brother stayed._

_If I had thought the hall was bad, then the interior room was much worse. Nothing had remained intact from my brother's apparent rage and pain at his transformation. At the very end of the room I could see a hunched figure. It was bathed in shadows but I could tell it was big, at least seven feet tall with a broad chest and shoulders, arms as thick as tree branches and sturdy legs. I swallowed my fear and found my voice. "Alexander?"_

_The creature perked up its ears and gradually turned towards me. Only then did I see the true face of the Enchantress's curse. My brother had become an animal; claws adorned his hands and feet which had now become paws, sharp teeth jutted out from his mouth, and horns stuck out from his head. Fur covered his whole body and I could see the remnants of a shirt that he must have been wearing when he was transformed. His eyes remained the same, blue and bright with rage. I heard him growl deep in his chest and fear made my stomach coil. I held up my hands and tried to speak rationally. "Brother, please. I know you must be frightened and angry but you have to listen to me―"_

_He cut me off and spoke in a way that reminded me of a small child learning his first words, slow and deliberate. "You did this." His once light voice had been turned into a deep growl._

_"What? Xander, no, I would never―"_

_"That's the only reason she would have spared you and cursed me. You sent her here to curse me! Traitor!"_

_"Alexander, stop! Let me explain. After I left―"_

_He grabbed me by the throat, effectively cutting my explanation short. The raw strength of his monstrous body terrified me; if he wished, I would be dead with one flick of his wrist. "It appears you were right," the Beast hissed. "I did lose my brother, but he was far from precious to me. He's a traitor now, you know. Perhaps I should show you where a traitor belongs."_

_He dragged me through the halls of my home until we came to the dungeon tower. Without care, he threw me to the cold stones inside one of the cells and shut the door without another word. I was too shocked to even call after him. Some of the servants must have followed us because I heard him growl, "No one is to offer him any kind of help. Unless, of course, they wish to share his fate."_

_I knew then that I was going to die, with nothing left to do but wait and grieve for my brother. My brother, Alexander, who died Christmas Eve ten years ago._

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**If you read my AN for the last chapter then you know how I feel about reviews. Please, please, please leave me one! They are my motivation to update faster. **

**Until next time,  
XOXOXOXO,  
Joni**


	6. Chapter Five: The First Night - Part 1

**I'm back! After a major battle with writer's block and making my way through college classes, I finally sat down and managed to finish this chapter. I don't want to take up too much more of your time with this AN but I have a little challenge for you guys after you read this chapter: recommend this story to three people you know. I can't give you any prizes for doing this but it would really mean a lot to me knowing that other people know that this story exists. Now, onward to the story!**

**Disclaimer: I still only own Layla and Robert.**

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The First Night: Part 1

While the fire continued to crackle merrily the mood of the two people in the room could not have been more melancholy. Layla felt her heart aching more than it ever had during her time... Well, that wasn't important. She heard Robert take a shaky breath, thin shoulders heaving with the weight of the emotion he had just poured out to her. Hesitantly, she reached out one hand and pressed it to his shoulder.

Immediately, he threw himself into her arms, sobbing quietly. While his reaction surprised her with its suddenness, Layla could not help but wind her arms around his thin frame. Tears coursed down his face, hot and never-ending, soaking the part of her cape that covered her shoulder. She didn't try to say everything would be alright or that he was fine because he wasn't. He had lost so much, too much, for one man to lose and then having to spend every day in a small cell for ten long, cold, and lonely years, his last memory of freedom being of his brother telling him he hated him―she didn't want to think about it.

Slowly, as Layla held him and tried to shush his strangled sobs, Robert's body stopped shivering with the force of his tears and he pulled away from the embrace. Bony hands came up to wipe his sodden eyes and face. "You must forgive me, mademoiselle, I had not meant to be so forward."

"Oh! I-it's alright." The air was suddenly filled with awkward tension as both people struggled to find the words to say next. "I have your book," blurted Layla.

Robert's eyes found hers, filled with astonishment and an impossible hope. "My book?" He breathed out the words; it was all he seemed to have the strength for.

"Yes, the bookseller in town gave it to me as a gift. He only said that someone had left it behind and never came back for it. I only realized it was yours when you were telling―well, here." She took the book from the bag she had brought. "You should have it back."

When he took it from her hands he handled the book with gentle and shaking hands. He didn't open it, only traced the designs on the front cover. The silence stretched on so long as he marveled at the object in his hands. Layla wanted to touch him but his emotions were still running high and she didn't want him to exhaust himself with crying. He let out a short exhale before turning his thin and drawn face towards her. "I cannot express in words my gratitude to you, mademoiselle. This gift, I―" his voice began to crack and he inhaled sharply, composing himself, before continuing, "I had thought this lost to me forever. I didn't realize I had forgotten it until after…after everything happened."

"I'm only glad I could return it to you."

There was a soft knock on the door, which Layla rushed to answer. Not sure what to expect, she turned her eyes to the floor. It seemed though, she had not needed to look so low, as the object outside the door was a simple tea tray. The covered tray didn't appear to be alive, but the teapot was another story. The teapot had a motherly expression on her porcelain face. "Hello, dearie, I'm Mrs. Potts. The doctor gave me some medicine and I've brought some broth for your patient. May I come in?"

Layla felt she should have been shocked with how quickly she had become accustomed to talking to, what should have been, inanimate objects. But she stood aside and let the tea tray pass. It stopped at the edge of the bed, not far from where Robert sat. "You needn't pretend not to know me, Mrs. Potts. I've told Layla everything." He looked guilty when Layla turned confused eyes on him. "Not long before your father arrived, I had a vision of you and Belle coming here. I made the servants swear to keep my identity a secret, should I be found."

"You had a vision? As in a premonition?"

Mrs. Potts gave him a sad, chiding look. "It appears you left a bit out, Master Robert."

"I was coming to it, but it is a rather difficult concept to explain." An embarrassed blush painted his pale cheeks as he turned back to Layla. He paused for a few moments trying to find the right words. "It took me a while to figure out the nature of the gift the Enchantress had given me. While I was in that cell, there would be times visions would just hit me. I could hear the voices of the servants, see where they were, even if they were in the farthest corners of the castle. At first, I had no control over the visions or the voices and it took a long time for me to muster the strength of concentration needed to tune out the voices and keep the visions from overwhelming me. Many times, I tried to reach out to Alexander but his mind is closed off from the world. Finally, I gave up and focused my energies on finding a bit hope in the future. Just before your father arrived here, I had a vision of someone coming to the castle and the joy that would follow their arrival. But, it would seem, the future is a fickle friend."

Layla agreed. This day had brought her no joy, in fact she didn't know how she would ever feel joy while she and her sister remained captives in this dismal place. "Now, that's enough moping about, both of you." Mrs. Potts began to pour tea. "Dearie, there's a vial of medicine from the doctor on the tray. Just put a few drops in the tea. Robert, it will probably make you tired but Lord knows you need the rest." Once Layla had maneuvered the cup and covered tray to the bedside table, the magical tea cart rolled out.

After putting the medicine in the tea, Layla uncovered the broth and carefully passed the bowl to Robert. While he slowly ate, Layla stirred the medicine into his tea. Wanting to make sure he drank the tea while it was still hot, and to make sure he didn't make himself ill, she switched out the bowl in hands for the teacup. "You need rest if you want to get better," she said when he began to protest her taking the broth away. "Take your medicine and then sleep. Once you wake up, you can have the rest of the broth."

He let out a sigh before downing the medicated tea in one gulp. Layla covered the tray again while Robert's eyelids began to fall. She did her best to maneuver him under the blankets as sleep began to overtake him. "Sleep well," she whispered and she brushed the hair from his eyes as his breathing became deep and even.

Now that Robert was taken care of and resting, Layla wanted nothing more than to see her sister. It pained her to think of the tears Belle must have shed alone in this dark castle. The Beast had mentioned that this room was connected to Belle's and it almost made her smile to think that there was a secret passage in this room; like in a few of the mystery novels she had read. It took a while for her to locate the small, bronze knob that led into what appeared to be a straight hallway. Picking up the candle from the bedside table, she ventured into the dusty passage. Though she didn't go off her current path, the candle offered her limited vision to other passages and stairs that could lead anywhere all over the castle. She made a promise to explore them one day. _It's not as though I won't have the time._

She walked a distance more before the passage stopped at a wall. Hoping that this was the place a door would be, she leaned her head toward it and knocked. A slight gasp came from the other side. "Belle? It's me, it's Layla." Shuffling was heard before the door in the wall opened and the light from the room temporarily blinded Layla. She hardly had her bearings back before Belle threw her arms around her and held her tight. Careful of the candle, Layla embraced Belle just as tightly.

"Your patient, how is he?" Belle pulled her into the room and sat her down on the bed.

"The doctor said he'll be fine as long as he gets plenty of food and rest. But what about you? Are you...feeling alright?"

Belle gave her a small, weak smile. "It helps knowing you're here, but I miss Papa."

Layla squeezed Belle's hand as her heart gave a painful tug. The silence weighed heavy on both of them before Belle stood up and pulled Layla along with her. "There's someone I should introduce you to." Near the bed, stood a magnificent wardrobe, painted white with green doors and golden drawer handles. And a face with big, bold, caring eyes and a fabulous smile. "Layla, this is Madame Armoire; Madame, this is my sister."

"A pleasure to meet you, my dear. Your sister told me a little about you, and just let me say you are both very brave."

A compliment Layla was quickly getting tired of hearing. She didn't feel _brave_; how can you feel brave when a piece of your heart has been taken from you? But she didn't say anything and just masked the hollow ache she felt with a smile. "Thank you, Madame."

"Will you both be going down to dinner then? I'm sure I have something that will set off those lovely eyes of yours." The wardrobe opened her doors to reveal a rack of beautiful dresses and began to hand a lavender dress to Layla but she quickly stepped away, her features twisting into an angry scowl. There was no way she would even consider having dinner with _him_. It was bad enough that he had forced Belle into agreeing to stay here, but now that she knew who he was and what he had done to Robert...

"That's very kind of you," Belle said, "but we aren't going to dinner."

"But you must! The Master will be very angry if you don't."

"Let him be angry then," Layla growled.

Belle put a placating hand on her shoulder. Taking a deep breath, she gave Belle a smile before they both turned to the door as a rustling occurred outside. In stepped a mantle clock, the hands of his literal clock face pointed in such a way that they made what resembled a mustache. "Dinner is served."

Layla stayed where she was as Belle gently explained to the clock, who slowly went white as a sheet, they would not be attending dinner that evening. He tried to protest, but the brunette woman stood her ground. A few moments later, the clock heaved a great sigh, as though he had accepted his death sentence, and left the girls alone. A moment after he was gone, Belle went back to the door and locked it.

Madame did her best to move as far away from the door as possible; due to her considerable bulk, she could not move more than a few meters, and while her expression remained pinched and anxious, she looked a bit more at ease. The girls sat on the bed and waited for something to happen. Neither could truly predict what would happened, but it was guaranteed there would be a great deal of animosity involved, possibly yelling.

"WHAT?!" Yes, yelling was definitely going to be a central component of the equation.

The roar echoed up the stairs, followed quickly by the sound of bounding footsteps. Belle gripped Layla's hand and when a very large paw pounded on the door, both held their breath, wondering if the wood would sustain such abuse. But it seemed fate was on their side, for no sooner had the last pound began to echo, than an irate voice reached their ears, "I thought I told you to come down to dinner!"

Belle squeezed Layla's hand again, harder this time, as she saw the redhead begin to open her mouth. Though she wasn't quite sure why, Layla kept quiet. "I'm not hungry." The brunette's voice had an angry edge but, otherwise, it remained steady and calm.

"You come out or I-I'll break down the door!"

"How charming," muttered Layla. "And just when I thought he couldn't get any worse." The ghost of a grimace crossed Belle's face and it made Layla think of the times when they would make fun of Gaston in their bedroom back home. A painful throb of her heart at the thought sobered her as voices muttered outside the door.

"Will you come down to dinner?" The Beast's voice was still angry, with an undertone of sulkiness to it.

"No."

The voices outside whispered together a moment more before, "It would give me great pleasure if you would join me for dinner." The last part was a dangerous growl and there was a beat of silence before a very sulky, "Please," was tacked onto the end.

"No thank you!"

"You can't stay in their forever!"

"Oh, yes, I can!"

"Fine! Then go ahead and _STARVE! _If she doesn't eat with me, then she doesn't eat at all!" It sounded as though he was going to stomp away, but then he added, "And that goes for the other girl as well!"

The echoes of a roar and a slamming door left Belle and Layla releasing sighs of relief mixed with anger and frustration; Layla stood. "He can't do that!"

"I'm afraid he can, dear," Madame Armoire sighed as she shuffled back to her original post from where she had been hiding. "He is the master of this castle after all."

"I don't care if he's king of the world!" Layla rounded on the wardrobe, fire blazing in her eyes. "He had _no right _to order Belle, me, or anyone around like that!"

The wardrobe let out another sigh, more resigned. "That's just the way it's always been. He's the Master of the castle. The servants can do nothing but listen to him."

"Well, we don't have to." Belle had remained sitting on the bed, her back stiff and straight. "We may have to stay here forever, but I will _not_ take orders from him."

Layla smiled at her and joined her on the bed again to wrap an arm around her shoulders. Sometimes they would sit like this in front of the fireplace on nights when Papa was away at a fair or when they couldn't sleep. They would read, talk, or simply sit in the silence and think. Layla closed her eyes and tried to picture exactly what the hill behind the cottage had looked like that morning; how the grass had smelled; what birds she had heard calling to each other in the trees; how the earth had squished between her toes and the wind blowing across her face. It felt like a secret, a bright and happy memory that should never be touched by the darkness and gloom of the castle around her. So, she locked it away in the deepest part of her heart where only she could find it.

A soft knock to the wall brought the sisters back to reality. Layla got up and cautiously approached the panel, which had remained slightly ajar. Slowly pulling back on the small knob, her eyes widened when Robert stepped into the room. He had found a change of clothes and appeared to have had a bath. Had it really been _that _long since she'd left him? "What on earth do you think you're doing out of bed?"

His smiled sheepishly. "Forgive me, mademoiselle, but I needed to come." His gaze swept the room and lingered on the door before returning to Layla. "I heard a great deal of shouting. Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine, we both are."

"Is this your patient?" Belle stood behind Layla to look Robert up and down. "It appears you've done well taking care of him, Layla; he already looks so much better."

Robert smiled. "Thank you, miss, I'm on the mend. I don't know if Layla mentioned my name but, I'm Robert."

"A pleasure to meet you; I'm Belle." She curtsied politely as he gave her a little bow.

"I hear a new voice," called Madame Armoire. "Who is it?"

Robert stepped further into the room. A flash of recognition and relief passed across the wardrobe's face, but she kept silent, remembering her promise to keep Robert's identity secret. "Madame, this is Robert; the man Layla rescued." Belle remained blessedly oblivious to the brief moment of tension as she "introduced" Robert to Madame Armoire.

"It's lovely to meet you, Madame." It was obvious that Robert was struggling to keep his emotions under control. Layla felt her heart tighten for him. Finally, after years of being locked away, he was being reunited with those who had been there for him when his brother had not, and they were forced to pretend he was a stranger because of the promise they made.

"Thank you, dearie. I'm so glad to hear that you're feeling better, but you must still be quite tired. Won't you come sit down?"

Smiling, Robert carefully made his way over to the bed, Layla watching him closely for any sign that he might keel over. "Now then," he began once he was settled, "will someone please tell me what all that shouting was about earlier?"

"I'm afraid the Master was not very pleased when Belle decided not to join him for dinner." Madame threw an anxious glance at the door, as though the Beast was still waiting behind it and listening to their every word.

"You refused him?" The incredulous note in Robert's voice made the embers of Layla's anger spark.

"He has no right to order her to do anything! Isn't it enough that he has taken our freedom?"

"I'm sorry, Layla, but I think it was unwise to have angered him so much on your first night here. It could mean bad things in the future."

That made Layla stop and think. _What has he seen? Would the Beast really hurt Belle just because she didn't do what he ordered her to? _The thought made the blood in her veins cool with fear.

"Layla's right," Belle broke into the conversation, her usually musical voice hard and bitter.

"But the Master's really not so bad once you get to know him. Why don't you give him a chance?" Madame pleaded.

"I don't want to get to know him," exclaimed Belle. "I don't want to have anything to do with him!"

"Perhaps there's more to his story than you know―a story that would change how you see him." It was a weak attempt to draw Belle in, like a mystery in one of her books, and Robert knew it.

"Why are you defending him? You've been his prisoner for years!"

Belle didn't catch the flash of pain in Robert's eyes that Layla did as she stormed away to the window at the far end of the room. He said nothing more but Layla could see in those haunted, sad, blue eyes the answer to her sister's question.

* * *

A petal fell from the enchanted rose as the Beast placed the magic mirror back on the table next to the bell jar. Hopelessness filled him more fiercely than it ever had before as the words and images of the scene he had just witnessed replayed in his mind. The girl could never love him, not after what he had taken from her; the same could be said for her sister. Yet, some part of him that had been dormant for the last ten years, retained a dim glow of hope that the girl could be his way out of the curse. He shoved the thought away and extinguished the embers of a dream long gone.

It had surprised the Beast that her sister―Layla, he had heard her called― had been mostly quiet during the argument. He had seen the fury in her eyes when he had been alone with her, scorching his back and not allowing him to meet her eyes. Hers was a gaze that condemned him for every crime he had ever committed, even if she did not know what those crimes were. Guilty as he had felt from the ire in her eyes, his anger at her actions and his pride had allowed him to mask that guilt. She had saved the person who still bore his face. Seeing his brother, seeing the face that he could have had if not for the curse, had brought back more pain than he had ever thought possible. He had thought he had come to terms with the fact that he would be a monster forever, but then the girls had come and one of them had demanded the freedom of a man he had thought for certain to be dead.

And why on earth had he granted her request? He should have just shoved her out the door along with her father once her sister had offered her freedom in exchange for both of their lives. Going into that cell, he had expected to see the skeletal remains of what had once been his brother, and the Beast growled at the pang of grief in his heart at such a thought. Instead, he had found a man―weak, thin, and sick―but alive with a face that showed him what he could have been. The blue eyes, lighter but still so like the Beast's own, set in a human face made the guilt he felt about abandoning his brother to death evaporate like snow in the spring. The enchantress had spared him, but had still cursed the Beast to this fate of gloom and loneliness. Why else would she do that unless Robert had been the one to send her? But he could not stop the waves of regret that continued to crash over him as he had seen what the years had done to his brother.

Standing over his brother's prone form in that cell, the Beast had seen what had become of the boy who had once been his closest friend. The clothes that hung from his body provided no defense against the cold that never left the dungeon tower and through the holes and rips in the rags he wore, the Beast could see every bone in Robert's body. Somehow, he had survived years of cold, hunger, and loneliness. The worst part about it all, though, was knowing that he had done this to his own _brother; his twin brother. _The memories that continued to surge through his mind whenever he thought of Robert brought him more pain even than the knowledge that the curse could never be broken; and that brought him a great deal of pain. The Beast hunched over the bell jar and stared at the rose's ethereal glow. "It's hopeless," he murmured, feeling his heart break as he said the words.

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**Please review! I'm sharing this story with you and I would really like to know you are enjoying it. Or if you have any constructive criticisms that you think would help make the story better. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.**

**Until next time,  
XOXOXOXO,  
Joni**


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